THE   PEACOCK 


A  SONG  OF  THE  SOUTH 


^f 

^-/^ 

V        n  '2  T 


THE  PEACOCK 

AND  OTHER  POEMS;  OR 

SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTH 


BY 

JAMES  HAMPTON  LEE 

AUTHOR   OF   "  LETTERS    OF   TWO,"    ETC. 


THE 

Hbbey  prces 

PUBLISHERS 

114 
FIFTH    AVENUE 

Xon&on  NEW  YORK  Montreal 


Copyright,  1901, 

by 
THE 


the  United  States 

and 
Great   Britain. 


DEDICATED  TO 

Florence  jflDap  Dan  H)U3er 

— JUST   A    FRIEND — 

IN    WHOSE   COMPANY   I    FIRST   FELT 

THE    INSPIRATION    ESSENTIAL   TO    WRITING 

AND    IN    WHOSE    MIEN 
I   FIRST    BEHELD    POETRY    PERSONIFIED 


To  Hon.  E.  B.  Springs,  who  loves 
a  hound  and  a  horse,  and  who  loves  to 
lift  up  humanity;  to  him,  my  father's 
friend,  this  poem  is  dedicated  by 

The  Author. 


I  have  known  a  peacock  to  live  to  the  age  of 
seventy-two.  I  never  knew  one  to  die  a  natural 
death.— BILL  ARP  (in  Atlanta  Constitution.) 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE. 

James  Hampton  Lee,  the  author  of  this 
book,  was  born  October  the  eleventh,  1876, 
near  the  village  of  Fort  Alill,  South  Carolina. 
His  father,  David  A.  Lee,  who  is  at  least 
remotely  (inore  like  nearly,  if  t/te  facts  were 
known)  related  to  the  famous  family  of  Vir- 
ginia Lees,  was  then  a  humble  but  highly  re- 
spectable farmer,  seeking  in  this  secluded  spot 
to  rehabilitate  the  fortune  zvhich  war  had 
devastated  a  decade  before.  It  may  be  well  to 
add  that  lie  is  now  independent,  owning  a 
handsome  home  near  Fort  Mill,  and  that  he 
has  been  referred  to  as  "  one  of  Fort  Mill's 
most  substantial  citizens."  When  James,  his 
first-born,  reached  the  age  of  six  he  zvas  kept 
half  the  year  or  more  at  the  typical  country 
school,  and  what  time  he  was  not  there,  he  zvas 
taught  by  his  mother — a  gentle,  noble  woman, 
who  always  won  the  prizes  offered  for  spelling, 
etc.,  at  the  schools  of  ante-bellum  days. 

James  fortunately  inherited,  not  only  his 
mother's  faculty  for  quickly  acquiring  knowl- 
edge, but  also  his  father's  for  retaining  and 
applying  it.  While  a  student  at  the  High 
School  of  Fort  Mill  for  three  years  he  cap- 

3 


4  Biographical  Note. 

turcd  many  prises.  Pie  was  especially  apt  in 
grammar,  taking  great  pleasure  in  composi- 
tion. His  parents  were  both  members  of  the 
Baptist  Church  and  he  professed  faith  at  an 
early  age.  II' hen  only  seventeen  years  old  he 
was  elected  Superintendent  of  the  Sunday 
School,  which  office  lie  creditably  filled  for  tzuo 
years. 

In  February,  1896,  lie  suddenly  saw,  or 
thought  lie  saw,  "  apple  of  gold  in  pictures  of 
silver,"  in  or  around  Richmond,  J'irginia. 
So,  somewhat  against  the  wishes  of  relatives 
and  friends,  he  took  a  train  for  that  city.  For 
l/ie  remainder  of  the  \car  he  was  employed  by 
the  publishing  firm  of  B.  F.  Johnson  &  Co., 
there.  During  1897  he  accepted  a  position  as 
clerk  in  Ford's  hotel,  and  subsequently  at  the 
Lexington,  where  he  utilized  his  opportunities 
for  studying  human  nature.  He  spent  his 
spare  time  "  scribbling "  for  the  newspapers 
and  periodicals  of  the  city,  attracting  some 
attention.  1898-99  he  spent  rather  aimlessly 
(still  "scribbling"  with  success,  however),  in 
Philadelphia. 

The  year  1900,  he  spent  in  New  York  City, 
wJiere  he  still  resides,  when  he  is  not  visiting 
the  old  homestead,  "  Catawa  Castle  Circle,1' 
Fort  Mill,  South  Carolina. 

THE  PUBLISHERS. 


INTRODUCTION. 

THE  "  simple  grief-born  gift  of  song"  is 
one  which,  wherever  it  goes  in  this  era  of 
ethical  education,  finds  a  warmer  welcome  than 
of  yore.  Songs  sprung  from  sadness,  strange 
as  it  may  seem,  bring  gladness  (and  gladness 
is  strength,  on  life's  journey)  to  those  who 
sing,  as  well  as  to  those  who  hear.  The  de- 
mand, therefore,  for  practical  poetry — poetry 
which,  while  pointing  a  moral,  simultaneously 
points  out  some  of  the  most  beautiful  things  in 
the  world — things  which  would  have  been 
overlooked,  otherwise — the  demand,  the  real 
needy  for  this  kind  of  poetry  is  on  the  increase. 

The  poems  in  this  volume,  which,  from  a 
sense  of  duty  and  with  a  feeling  of  pleasure,  I 
now  place  before  the  public,  have  helped  me  to 
deal  philosophically  with  the  various  problems 
of  life  with  which  I  have  been  confronted.  I 
only  hope  that  all  who  read  may  receive  some 
such  reward. 

5 


6  Introduction. 

Poetry  is  not  a  drug  on  the  market ;  at  least 
it  should  not  be,  for  poetry  is  the  highest  form 
of  philosophy ;  and  philosophy  teaches  the  art 
of  living.  Poetry  of  the  right  kind  enables 
women  (I  cannot  say  this  is  true  of  many  men) 
to  get  out  of  life  all  there  is  in  it.  Therefore, 
poetry  is  not  all  dreams,  nor  is  every  poet 
necessarily  a  dreamer.  I  trust  and  believe  the 
circulation  of  "  The  Peacock  and  other 
Poems  "  will  in  some  degree  contribute  to  the 
refutation  of  this  pernicious  fallacy. 

Several  persons  who  have  perused  what  is 
here  written  have  requested  me  to  throw  a 
little  more  light  on  the  rather  mysterious  role 
the  peacock  is  made  to  assume  in  the  poem. 
I  have  neither  space  nor  time  here,  if  I  had  the 
inclination,  to  comply.  I  can  only  state  that  it 
is  the  opinion  of  at  least  one  competent  critic 
that  "  The  Peacock  "  is  the  Poe-est  poem  I 
ever  wrote;  and  further,  that  the  author  con- 
tends it  is  just  as  natural  for  a  peacock  to 
shriek  "  No,  not  now,"  as  it  is  for  a  raven  to 
croak  "  Nevermore." 

Read  no  more  of  ravens  gloomy; 
Read  of,  now,  the  peacock  plumy; 


Introduction.  7 

Why  should  not  the  latter  be  immortal,  too? 
From  my  peacock  just  a  feather, 
Cheers  you  up  in  cloudy  weather; 

Which  is  why  I  introduce  him  now  to  you. 

JAMES  HAMPTON  LEE. 

Catawba  Castle  Circle, 
Fort  Mill, 

South  Carolina. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE  PEACOCK 9 

A  THOUSAND  MILES  AWAY 22 

LOUNGIN'  ON  DE  LAWN 25 

WHAT  SHE  OUGHT  NOT  HAVE  TOLD  ME 27 

MAN 29 

WOMAN 31 

OF  A  FORT  AND  A  MILL,  IF  YOU  WILL 33 

To  THE  UNECLIPSABLE  SUN 41 

THE  MAN  WITH  ENOUGH  OF  MONEY ,' 42 

WHEN  I  SAW  HER  LYING  THERE 46 

THE  HERO  OF  Two  FLAGS 48 

THE  CRITIC 51 

THE  MAN  WHO  NEVER  WAS  BORN 53 

TETE-A-TETE 54 

GRANT'S  TOMB 55 

GRAB  DAT  COTTON  WID  DEM  DAR  PAWS 57 

A  SONG  OF  THE  SEA 59 

LINES  TO  A  WOMAN 60 

LINES  TO  A  COOK 62 

TO  THE  SOUL  OF  A  SONG 63 

THE  DEATH  OF  THE  CENTURIES 65 

THE  HEART  SONG 66 

7 


8  Contents. 

PARR 

•  THE  BLACKBIRDS 69 

BROOKLYN  BRIDGE 76 

THE  AVENUE  OF  FAME 78 

VERSES  TO  Miss  BLANK 81 

THE  MODERN  MAUD  MULLER 84 

I  HATE  TO  CALL  You 87 

BOBBIE'S  TOAST  TO  A  GHOST 89 

THE  Two  LOVERS 93 

LINES  TO  A  BRIDEGROOM 98 

BABY  MARIE 99 

THE  BEAUTIFUL,  CLEAR,  BLUE  SKY 102 

THE  LAST  DAY  OF  SUMMER 104 

ALONG  WITH  ALICE  WHITE 107 

LINES  ON  MY  TWENTY-SECOND  BIRTHDAY  ANNIVERSARY  109 

MY  DEAR  LITTLE  ANNIE in 

MY  MANILA  ;  OR  THE  SONG  OF  A  SOLDIER 113 

THE  VILLAGE  SCHOOLMASTER 115 

GIT  ERLONG,  KEEP  MOVIN' 117 

COME  BACK,  DEAR  JACK,  FROM  THE  KLONDIKE.. ......  119 

THE  MAGNOLIA 121 

LINES  BY  A  BLACK  SHEEP 1 23 

HOMEWARD  BOUND 126 

INNUBIBUS  ;  OR  IN  THE  CLOUDS 127 

Au  REVOIR 137 


THE  PEACOCK. 

PERCHED  a  proudly  plumed  peacock, 
Where  a  weeping  willow  wailed, 
One  mild,  misty,  mournful  morning 
When  both  earth  and  sky  were  veiled 

In  a  denseness  and  a  dimness 

That  seemed  all  the  incarnation 

Of  some  strange — some  spiteful   Spirit 

Which  hung  round  the  old  plantation ; 

Which  had  hovered  o'er  its  hilltops, 
Which  kept  visiting  its  vales, 
Till  six  hundred  slaves  were  buried 
In  its  deep,  dark  sylvan  dales; 

Buried  where  they  used  to  plow, 
To  the  tune  of  No,  not  now. 

These  six  hundred  slaves  were  sleeping 
'Neath  a  tall,  tremendous  tree; — 

9 


io  The  Peacock. 

No,  not  slaves  since  Death's  rude  reaping, 
No,  for  death  had  set  them  free; 

Kindly  death  their  souls  gave  welcome — 
Souls  of  bodies  born  all  black; 
Souls  which  longed  to  soar  to  freedom, 
Though  their  bodies  had  no  lack. 

Men  who'd  handled  hoe  and  plowshare 
Till  their  latest  loveless  breath ; 
Women  who  had  plucked  the  peacock's 
Plumes  each  year,  until  their  death; 

Side  by  side  lay  in  this  graveyard 
In  a  sunlit  Southern  state; — 
Of  their  Spirits   (and  the  peacock's) 
I  a  story  will  relate. 

Hear  of  how  an  ill  kept  vow, 
Changed  to  "  Never"  "  No,  not  now.' 


In  the  Carolina  country, 
In  a  thickly  wooded  tract, 
In  a  marvelous  old  mansion 
Twas  the  slaves  their  lord  attacked. 


The  Peacock.  ji 

Loved  they  not  the  lord  who'd  lashed  them, 
Nor  his  nine  as  stern,  strong  sons;  — 
Some  had  long  'ere  this  have  dashed  them 
Down  to  death,  but  —  slavery  stuns. 

And  although  they  thanked  their  Mistress 
For  so  much  to  eat  and  wear; 
And  although  they  loved  the  daughter 
Of  the  house,  so  kind  and  fair  — 

Still  as  slaves  they  had  to  bow  ;— 
They'd  be  free,  but  —  "  no,  not  now." 


She  —  the  beautiful  Miss  Bleeker; 
Promenades  grand  porticoes, 
Knowing  not  her  slaves  will  seek  her 
Father's  life  before  the  close 


Of  this  Sabbath  day  unclouded 
Yet  by  care  or  dream  of  crime; 
Knowing  not  all  funeral  shrouded, 
Ere  the  evening  clock  should  chime, 


12  The  Peacock. 

In  the  white,  wide-windowed  mansion, 
Father,  daughter,  sons  would  lie — 
And  six  hundred  slaves  lie  slaughtered 
On  the  grass  their  blood  would  dye. 

Piped  the  peacock,  "  why  and  how?  " 
Piped  the  peacock,  "  No,  not  now." 

Yes,  this  bird  of  brilliant  plumage 
Strutted  straight  across  the  lawn, 
As  for  forty  years,  to  rumage, 
Forcing  other  fowls  to  fawn ; 

As  for  forty  years — to  seek  its 
Mate  it  lost  when  it  was  young; 
And  the  woods,  when  it  would  shriek  its 
Strange,  sad  notes,  with  music  rung. 

But  the  bird,  it  brooded — brooded, 
As  have  humans  something  o'er, 
Till  its  owners,  half  deluded, 
Said  it  shrieked  of  things  before — 

Well,  before  they  came,  somehow ; 
BUT  to-day — ah — "  No,  not  now.' 


The  Peacock.  13 

Now,  at  noon,  the  slaves  (what  wonder), 
By  a  brigand's  brave  command, 
Heard  his  voice  as  harsh  as  thunder 
Promulgate  their  one  demand 

To  their  grand  old  gray-haired  master, 
Whom  they  saw  receive  it  ill ; — 
Fuming,    frowning,    faster — faster 
He  approached  the  brigand  "  Bill ;  " — 

"  You  demand  my  slaves  be  turned,  Sir, — 
Out  upon  the  world? — Say  why. 
I'd  prefer  to  see  them  burned,  Sir, — 
Here  and  NOW,  you  dog,  you  die." 

Then  ensued  the  ruffian's  row  ; — 
Piped  the  peacock,  "  No — not  now." 

Faint  with  fear,  the  slaves  fell  backward 
When  their  master's  sons  all — nine — 
Came  upon  the  scene,  delirious, 
Full  of  fight  and  full  of  wine; — 

But  the  brigand  brandished  swords  and 
Made  them  follow  where  he  led. 
Till  the  master  and  his  daughter — 
Both  were  numbered  with  the  dead ; 


14  The  Peacock. 

He,  because  he  had  not  granted 
Freedom  —  that  for  which  they  asked; 
She,  because  —  a  bullet  slanted  — 
One  unaimed  —  and  through  her  passed.  — 

BLACK  HANDS   BIND  HER  BLEED- 

ING BROW; 
CAN  THEY    SAVE    HER?—  NO,  NOT 

NOW. 


Words  may,  written  once  or  spoken, 
Circulate  through  Christendom. 
Though  a  guilty  heart  be  broken, 
Still  the  consequences  come. 

Thus,  although  no  harm  was  meant  to 
Her  here  slain,  by  one  poor  slave  ;  — 
Stretched  there  forth  a  strong  man's  arm  to 
Take  their  lives  for  that  she  gave;  — 

For  the  life  that  so  was  taken 
Had  been  bound  up  with  his  oivn, 
So  his  very  soul  was  shaken 
And  his  heart  ivas  turned  to  stone. 


The  Peacock.  15 

"  GOD  OR  DEVIL  ME  ENDOW, 

VENGEANCE;'   cried   he,    "VENGE- 
ANCE—NOW." 

Thus  with  feelings  all  ill  founded, 
Rode  he  forth  with  bated  breath;  — 
How  his  horse's  hoofs  resounded, 
As  he  sped  to  deal  out  death. 

Neighbors  at  the  mansion  numbered 
Near  a  hundred  —  all  was  peace, 
When  our  hero  —  up  he  lumbered  :  — 
"  Men  be  manly  ;  —  slay  nor  cease 

"  Till  the  last  black  heart  is  branded, 
That  has  dreamed  of  being  free  ; 
Till  the  last  black  soul  has  landed 
Into  God's  eternity  !  " 

"Right—  we'll  fight,"   they  all   allow;— 
Piped  the  peacock,  "  No,  not  now." 


See  yon  yellow  sun  "now  sinking  —  : 
Sinking,  shining  through  the  rain? 
See  that  trembling  horse  there  drinking?  — 
HUMAN  BLOOD  IS  ON  HIS  MANE. 


1  6  The  Peacock. 

'Tis  a  horse  brought  back  from  battle 
And  from  carnage  overdone;  — 
Of  "  that  black,  dumb  drove  of  cattle." 
Not  a  slave  survived  —  not  one, 

E'en  the  women  and  the  children 
Left  were  dead  to  all  the  world,  — 
Every  frame  with  fear  was  rilled  and 
Each  sad  heart's  high  hopes  were  hurled 

DOWN     INTO     THIS     SIN-CURSED 

SLOUGH  , 
RESCUE,      PEACOCK?—  "NO,      NOT 

NOW." 


But  the  time  now  came  to  bury 
All  these  innocents  abroad, 
And  a  man  who  very,  very 
Much  his  bloody  hands  abhorred;  — 

With  those  same  hands  helped  to  fashion, 
For  the  fragments  scattered  by 
Of  his  mad,  misguided  passion, 
Good,  green  graves  in  which  to  lie. 


The  Peacock.  17 

In  six  hundred  sheets  snow-white,  he 
Wrapped  their  bodies  bruised  and  black; — 
Though  he  tried  his  wrong  to  right,  he 
Could  not  call  their  Spirits  back. 

SEE  HIM  BY  EACH  BODY  BOW. 
PARDON,     PEACOCK?— "NO,     NOT 
NOW." 

"  If  not  pardoned,  why  not  punished?  " 
Then  asks  Justice  from  above : — 
Why? — Because  the  thing  that's  done  was 
Done  for  love — for  love — for  LOVE : — - 

For  the  love  of  her  now  lying 
'Neath  the  weeping  willow,  green; 
For  the  love  of  her  who,  dying, 
Smiled  and  said :    "  Just  let  me  lean, 

"Just  let  me  lean  (I'm  cold,  and  shaking) 
For  a  moment  on  his  breast; 
Just  let  me  lean  (my  head  is  aching) — 
Let  me  lean — on  HIM — and  rest. 

"  Tell  him  truly  why  and  how.*' — 
Piped  the  peacock,  "  No,  not  now/ 


i8  The  Peacock. 

And  the  peacock  pleased  the  people, 
Who  with  vain,  vindictive  vim 
Slew  both  innocent  and  guilty, 
With  an  understanding  dim. 

Yes,  he  thought — the  vengeance  wreaker — 
That  he  slew  the  slayers  of — 
Of  the  beautiful  Miss  Blcckcr — 
Of  his  lost — his  only  love. 

Peacock— prophet— WHOSE    hand    killed 

her?— 

Speak !  them  on  the  future  fed ; — 
Did  that  brigand,  base,  bewilder 
Those  poor  slaves? — the  one  that's  dead? 

FROM      A      COTTONWOOD'S      BIG 

BOUGH, 
,  PIPED,  THE  PEACOCK,    "  YES,  BUT 

NOW  "— 

Well,  his  body,  mutilated 
By  the  heavy  hoofs  of  horse, 
Dogs  devoured  and  desecrated; — 
Such  the  fate  of  such  a  corse. 


The  Peacock.  19 

But  the  slaves,  sad  martyrs  to  him 
Who'd  maliciously  them  free; — 
By  Miss  Bleeker  and  her  kindred, 
With  a  sad  solemnity, 

Had  a  resting-place  assigned  them 
By  our  hero; — and  he  knew 
That  the  days  he'd  stay  behind  them, 
Were  to  be  extremely  few. 

Therefore  thought  he  to  endow— 
Piped  the  Peacock,  "  No,  not  now." — 

Yet  the  monument  that's  o'er  him 
And  o'er  her  and  over  all, 
Tells  of  how  his  neighbors  bore  him 
(And  a  PEACOCK,  too)  that  fall, 

To  a  willow  ever  weeping, 
And  interred  them  by  the  side 
Of  the  dust  of  her  now  sleeping, 
Made  in  symbol  here  his  bride. 

And  the  only  ceremony 

Was  to  read  his  generous  WILL; — 

To  for  all  mistakes  atone  he 

Left  his  fortune  all  to  fill 


2o  The  Peacock. 

All  the  mouths  of  every  widow, 
Every  orphan  of  the  slaves; 
Thus  he  now  became  a  bidder 
For  God's  mercy  —  that  which  saves. 


Here  lies  father,  lover,  daughter, 
Sons  and  slaves  —  beneath  one  mound  ;  — 
(And  the  PEACOCK)   water,  water 
For  this  bloody,  thirsty  ground.  — 

While  the  water's  dropping,  dropping, 
Look  at  this  inscription  which 
Sculptors,  skillful,  chopping,  chopping, 
Wrote  upon  the  marble  rich  :  — 

'  This  is  beautiful  Miss  Bleeker, 
Where  you  stand, 
And  the  unsuccessful  seeker 
Of  her  hand. 

All  the  others  lying  round  them 

Kindred  —  slaves  ;  — 
'Tis  through  LOVE  —  not  hate  you've  found 

them 
In  their  graves. 


The  Peacock.  21 

All  misunderstood  each  other 
Here  below ; 

But  the  mists  have  lifted  further — 
NOW  they  KNOW."— 

More  than  this  I  cannot  tell  nor  prophesy ; 
But  the  Peacock — he  may  tell  us  by-and-by. 


22  The  Peacock. 


A  THOUSAND  MILES  AWAY. 

Boys,  I'll  tell  you  since  I  saw  you, 

Things  seem  rather  slightly  changed; 
I've  right  here  the  facts  and  figures — 

Let  me  get  them  all  arranged. 
Boys,  I  guess  you'll  recollect  it, 

How  I  smiled  when  I  came  East. 
Told  you  fellows  how  I'd  make  it, 

And  you  doubted  not  the  least. 

You'll  remember  I  had  money 

When  I  left  the  Woolly  West, 
But  the  East  was  simply  "  milk  and  honey," 

And  say,  I  done  my  level  best. 
You  see  I'm  back,  boys,  somewhat  rusted — 

I  said  I'd  strike  it  rich,  or  bust, 
I'm  not  ashamed  to  say  I'm  busted  ; 

But  I'll  explain  it,  boys — I  must. 

The  first  thing  when  a  fellow  gets  there, 
He  must  pay  his  money  down; 


A  Thousand  Miles  Away.          23 

For  before  those  folks  will  trust  you, 
They'll  calmly  kick  you  out  of  town. 

Next  you've  got  to  take  the  sights  in, 
Then  you'll  hit  the  "  green  goods  "  ball ; 

Money's  half  gone  when  that's  over — 
You're  glad  if  any's  left  at  all. 


Well,  boys,  the  story's  not  much  longer, 

For  money  is  the  means  to  ends; 
But  I'll  make  the  moral  stronger, — 

Without  money  there's  no  friends. 
Now,  you'll  find  your  board  bill's  due  you 

And  you've  not  a  cent  to  pay, 
Then's  the  time  it  comes  home  to  you — 

You're  a  thousand  miles  away. 


Boys,  I  only  wish  to  warn  you 

That  unless  you've  got  a  "  pull," 
Don't  go  East,  nor  no  direction, 

Except  you've  got  your  pockets  full, 
For  when  troubled  you'll  be  thinking 

Of  the  home  folks  every  day, 
And  you're  apt  to  do  some  sighing 

If  you're  a  thousand  miles  away. 


24  The  Peacock. 

No,  boys,  I'll  tell  you  without  funning, 

When  you've  got  a  good,  nice  home, 
There's  not  a  grain  of  sense  in  running 

'Round  a  land  where  millions  roam. 
And  the  man  who  does  he'll  sure  discover 

It's  just  as  trying  as  I  say, 
The  world  just  goes  from  "  had  to  worser ' 

When  one's  a  thousand  miles  awa] 

Yes,  hoys,  I'm  glad  I'm  back  to  TexaC 

And  I'll  never  leave  again; 
I  won't  even  go  to  Klondike — 

To  leave  at  all  would  be  a  pain. 
Guess  I'll  settle  down  and  farm  it 

From  December  clear  to  May, 
And  I'll  never  more  be  busted 

When  a  thousand  miles  away. 


Loungin'  On  De  Lawn. 


LOUNGIN'  ON  DE  LAWN. 

Dis  po'  free  nigger  once  wuz  er  slavin'— 

Ol'  Mossur  fed  me  fine  an'  fat; 

But  now  it's    de  white  man    er  cussin'  an    er 

ravin', 
'Cause  I  won't  do  dis,  an'  I  won't  do  dat. 

CHORUS. 

I'ze  sca'ce  er  hog  an'  hominy, 

But  Fze  er  livin'  easy,  cause  I'ze  free; — 

No  more  er  pickin'  cotton,  an'  er  haulin'  er 

corn, 
While  de  white  man's  er  loungin'  on  de  lawn. 

I  now  can  go  and  git  free  schoolin' ; — 
Ol'  Missus  says  she  schooled  me  mo' : 
But  de  black  man  teaches  de  art  er  mulin' ; 
'Gin  de  white  man's  tricks  I  kicks  for  sho'. 

Fze  got  my  'ligin,  goes  tur  preechin' — 
Oh,  ev'y  day  seems  like  Sunday  now; 


26  The  Peacock. 

Arter  me  no  white  man's  er  howlin'  an'  er 

screechin', 
Like  dogs  arter  pap's  ol'  big  blue  sow. 

I  luv'd  dem  greasy  slave  time  eatin's ; — 
My  clo'es  is  ragged,  an'  my  shoes; 
But  den  dis  back  don't  git  no  beatin's; — 
An'  de  white  man's  er  dyin'  wid  de  blues. 


What  She  ought  not  have  Told  Me.  27 


WHAT  SHE  OUGHT  NOT  HAVE  TOLD 
ME. 

ON  an  old  flint  hill's  a  graveyard 

And  a  schoolhouse  and  a  church ; 

There  a  school-girl  I  loved  so  hard, 

Now  has  left  me  in  the  lurch; 

Though  she  loved  me  too,  or  thought  it; 

Oh !  this  change  so  quick,  what  wrought  it  ? 

CHORUS. 

Yes,  Miss  Janie,  I  have  missed, 

The  parting  gave  my  heart  a  twist; 

But  I'll  evermore  insist 

That  she  ought  not  have  told  me  she  loved  me. 

Ah !  she  always  met  me,  smiling, 
At  the  schoolhouse  mornings  bright; 
And  was  not  ashamed  of  whiling, 
In  the  other  scholars'  sight, 
All  the  noontime  with  her  lover, 
In  the  groves  of  Mr.  Glover. 


28  The  Peacock. 

"  I  accept  it — yes,  I  love  you," 
Are  the  very  words  she  said; — 
If  she  met  me  on  the  highway 
Now,  she'd  never  turn  her  head : 
Used  to  write  me  letters  weekly; — 
Not  so  since,  though  asked  most  meekly. 

But  she  then  was  very  young — 

Much  too  young  to  keep  exact 

The  bit  and  bridle  on  her  tongue, — 

So  I'll  tell  you  what's  a  fact; 

I  don't  care  now  for  her  letter; — 

Those  I  get  are  so  much  better. 


Man.  29 


MAN. 

Man  is  an  animal, 

And  such  an  one  as  he  has  grown  to  be 
Bewilders  sight  whene'er  we  try  to  see 

Within  a  subtle  veil — a  darkest  pall. 

Man  is  a  combination 
Of  avaricious  instincts.     And  'tis  true 
That,  if  he  could,  when  one  of  his  wife's  bill 
fell  due, 

He'd  flee  the  nation. 

Man's  on  a  rampage; — 
He  loves   so  well   to  hear   his  own   base    self 

orate, 
That   if  he   thinks   of  nothing    sensible,    he'll 

prate 
Fool's  language. 

Man  is  a  moral  miracle, 
In  that,  with  all  his  meanness,  woman  still 


3o  The  Peacock. 

Allows    herself   to   be   enticed  by   his    strong 

will- 
Pays  heed  to  sentiment's  oracle. 

Man's  a  machine 

Whose  revolutions  quicken — which  is  whirled 
By   that   omnipresent   power  which   rules   the 
world — 

Woman  so  serene. 

Man  still  is  sane, 

Though  he  has  lost,  since  he  was  old, 
In  love  with  woman  and  greed  for  gold, 

Much  of  his  brain. 

But  man  is  an  animal, 
Whose  family  will  not  become  extinct ; 
So  long  as  love  lives  on  and  life  with  love  is 
linked, 

He'll  fall  nor  fail. 


Woman,  31 


WOMAN. 

NATURE'S  beauties  near  and  far, 
Who  can  tell  me  what  they  are  ? 

My  mind 

Is  lost  in  wonder.     And  a  thought 
Of  all  these  blessings  on  earth  wrought 
Makes  me  say,  as  well  I  ought, 

How  kind. 

But  the  birds  and  trees  and  flowers 
In  their  heavenly  constructed  bowers 

Are  not  all ; 

There  is  woman  in  her  sphere, 
To  whom  nothing  can  compare, 
Fairest  of  all  else  that's  fair 

On  this  ball. 

No  verduous  valley  or  hilarious  hill 

Can  enchant  my  vision  or  so  sweetly  thrill 

My  soul. 

She  with  her  virtues — and  her  sins 
Breaks  not  her  heart   for  the  "  might  have 
beens;" 


32  The  Peacock. 

She  sets  the  pace  which  always  wins 
The  goal. 

It  has  been  said  once — yes,  a  million  times, 
Why  say  again?  Well,  why  church  chimes? 

I  now  repeat: 

Woman  is  far  ahead  of  man, 
She'll  glean  most  gold  from  every  pan, 
And  man  was  not  made  and  never  can 
Be  as  sweet. 

She's  an  emblem  true  of  highest  heaven 
And  if  from  our  lives  she  is  ever  riven, 

We're  sad; 

Without  woman  all  men  were  bad, 
Deny  us  her  and  our  souls  are  sad, 
But  with  her  every  heart  is  glad- 
So  glad. 


Of  a  Fort  and  a  Mill,  if  you  Will.  33 


OF  A  FORT  AND  A  MILL,  IF  YOU  WILL. 

BY  A  SON  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

WHO  composed  these  strange  new  stanzas  ? 
Read  the  last  one;  well  it  answers. 
Read  the  whole  historic  poem, 
Read  the  author,  read,  to  know  him. 

DEDICATED 

with  inexpressible  gratitude  to  my  most  con- 
scientious teacher  and  unfailing  friend,  Prof. 
John  A.  Boyd,  to  whom  will  always  belong  a 
share  of  any  credit  or  honor  which  anything  I 
do  may  ever  command. 

PROLOGUE. 

CREEPS  Catawba  River  calmly 
Crossing  Carolina's  land ; — 
I  invite  you  now  most  warmly 
On  Catawba's  banks  to  stand; 


34  The  Peacock. 

To  with  me  view  where  Indian  nations 
Worked  and  wandered  at  their  will; 
Where  now  "  grow  the  gay  plantations  " 
Which  make  famous  far  Fort  Mill. 

Come!  in  Fort  Mill,  Carolina, 
'Tis  not  long  between  the  drinks; 
For  she  drinks — now  don't  malign  her — 
What  will  help,  not  hurt,  she  thinks. 

A  ''dispensary's  "  established 
In  the  center  of  the  town ; 
Its  front  door  is  on  the  surface, 
And  to  go  in  means  go  down. 

In  the  summer  comes  forth  coolness, 
In  the  winter  issues  heat ; — 
Find  there  fun,  but  never  fool'ness, 
'Cause  there  comes  from  forty  feet 

'Neath  the  neat  and  clean-swept  pavement 
Water  only! — Mother  earth 
Free  dispenses,  no  depravement 
Can  invade  her  home  and  hearth. 

If  sin  should  make  monstrous  visit, 
T would  be  buried  at  its  birth !— 


Of  a  Fort  and  a  Mill,  if  you  Will.  35 

Speaking  of  this  water,  is  it 

Not  worth  more  than  whiskey's  worth? 
****** 

Carolina  called  her  children 

Up  one  day  in*  '76; — 

Told  them  that  their  home  and  birthright, 

Monsters  menaced :  bade  them  fix 

'Round  her  castles,  firm  and  frowning, 
Forts  from  which  to  fiercely  fight. 
"  There  will  be  a  glorious  crowning, 
If  the  day  is  won,  at  night," 

Said  young  Marion's  Morion  mother, 
And  he  said,  with  hundreds  more : 
"If  you  crown  us,  Carolina, 
We  will  crown  you  too,  before!  " 

So  the  swamp-fox,  swift  as  sunshine, 
Swept  by  British  dogs  of  war; 
Laughed  while  listening  to  their  barking, 
Slyly  scratched  them  with  his  paw, 

Bringing  blood  which  brought  on  battle 
Oft  with  Carolina  then; — 
Listen  ! — how  the  brushwood  rattle ! 
Marion!  and  his  marching  men! 


36  The  Peacock. 

Down  toward  Cowpens,  from  her  hill-tops, 
Carolina  sees  the  stir ; 
Marion's  marches,  Britons  short-stops, 
Knows  her  children  care  for  her 

And  her  dozen  sisters,  giving 
All  their  sons  for  liberty; 
"  Life  is  not  to  us  worth  living, 
Unless  we  can  live  it  free," 

Said   she,   and   through   revolution 
Rose  up  forts  upon  her  hills; 
Forth  they  fired  for  constitution, 
While  to  feed  them  moved  the  mills. — 

"  White's  old  mill  "  much  meal  was  grinding 
For  our  fort's  defenders'  bread ; 
Bushels  boosted  bullets ;  blinding 
Blazes  burst  'gainst  coats  of  red! 

Scarlet  oft  blood-red  was  turning! — 
(Though  some  guns  were  logs  of  pine, 
Painted,  their  designer's  earning 
Fame  yat — 1899.) 

Mill  and  fort  co-operation — 
Farmers  forcing  sacks  of  corn 


Of  a  Fort  and  a  Mill,  if  you  Will.  37 

To  the  mill  for  granulation,, 
Whence  the  fort  was  fed  each  morn, 


Gained  such  victory  and  glory 
That  the  folks  for  miles  made  will 
They'd  one  city  make;  did  so  they, 
And  they  christened  it  "  Fort  Mill" 

By  that  fort  that  flamed  with  fury, 
By  that  old  revolving  mill; 
Didn't  they  name*,  it  right  ?  Grand  jury 
Never  found  a  truer  bill ! 

We've  the  name  and  we're  the  people, 
By  our  fathers  who  are  dead ! 
And  though  some  have  chased  the  steeple, 
As  you  may  perhaps  have  read, 

There  are  few  of  such  who've  wanted 
In  some  rare  redeeming  trait : 
Men  like  Marion  e'er  undaunted, 
Swift  yet  cry,  "  God  save  the  State ! '" 

Deeds  are  done  to-day  diviner, 
By  the  faithful  of  Fort  Mill, 


38  The  Peacock. 

Than  were  done  by  Carolina 
Years  ago,  when  she  said  NIL 

To  the  Northmen,  and  Secession 
And  the  Act  to  Nullify, 
Law  made,  heading  the  procession, 
That  resolved  to  do  or  die. 

They're  the  cream  of  Carolina — 
The  good  people  of  Fort  Mill— 
And  though  some  of  them  are  finer 
Than  the  others,  most  have  still 

Blood  just  like  the  "  Grand  old  Rebel  " 
Had  who  fought  a  million  foes : 
And  they'll  pay  back  double — treble 
To  the  tramplers  on  their  tq.es. 

Yet  their  bravery  when  defending 
All  that's  great,  that  is,  that's  good, 
In  the  way  of  love  unending 
Has  not  in  one  instance  stood. 

Long  and  lovingly  we  linger 
'Round  this  region,  so  renowned; 
For  mementoes  many  a  finger 
Picks  up  pebbles  from  the  ground. 


Of  a  Fort  and  a  Mill,  if  you  Will.  39 

See  those  bullets  bruised  and  beaten, 

Huddled  in  that  tiny  hand  ? — 

Through    men's    hearts    they    plowed;— they 

sweeten 
Every  furrow  of  the  land. 

Glorious  land  our  soldiers  camped  on, 
Who  were  kind  enough  to  kill, 
Under  men  like  Marion,   Hampton, 
Fiercest  foes  of  fair  Fort  Mill. 

\ 
Ah,  the  cream  of  Carolina 

Are  the  folks  of  fair  Fort  Mill- 
Naught  can  break  the  kindred  tie  nor 
Waste  my  wishes  that  no  ill 

Evermore  shall  touch  the  cradle 
Of  my  childhood's  holy  hopes; 
Touch  the  love-land  where  I  stayed  till 
Swept  from  off  its  sunlit  slopes 

By  my  destiny's  Designer! 
Uncontaminated  still 
Keep  the  cream  of  Carolina 
Fortitudinous  Fort  Mill. 


4-O  The  Peacock. 

EPILOGUE. 

Though  I'm  nevermore  among  you, 
I  have  well,  sincerely  sung  you. — 
Now  I  reach  the  northern  pole  of — 
Of  my  poem — and  the  whole  of — 
FORT  MILL  HOLDS  THE  HEART  AND  SOUL  OF 
JAMES  HAMPTON  LEE. 


To  the  Uneclipsable  Sun.         41 


TO  THE  UNECLIPSABLE  SUN. 

i. 

Now  the  moon  casts  a  shadow  and  makes  red 

the  sun, 

Producing  a  darksome  eclipse;— 
Now  a  man  throws  a  kiss  at  his  chief  chosen 

one, 
And  it  lands  on  her  lovely  lips. 

ii 

To  a  round,  red  sea  those  rare  ruby  lips, 
Through  love's  glass,   through  love's  kiss, 
are  changed ; 

And  upon  that  sea,  sail  pure  white  ships 

(That's  her  teeth),  like  a  crescent  arranged. 

III. 

Now  that  blood-red  sea  and  those  snow-white 

ships, 

They're  aglow  with  a  sun's  bright  beams ; 
'Tis  the  sun  of  man's  love — it  can  know  no 

eclipse, 
For  it  shines  in  a  poor  man's  dreams. 


43  The  Peacock. 


IN   MEMORY  OF  THE  MAN  WITH 
ENOUGH  OF  MONEY. 

POLICEMAN  BAGLEY  saw  a  man  leaning  against  a  building 
on  James  Street  at  noon  yesterday.  He  approached  and 
gave  the  apparent  sleeping  man  a  push,  when  he  fell  to  the 
pavement  dead.  A  hurry  call  for  the  ambulance  was  sent  in. 
The  surgeon,  upon  his  arrival,  pronounced  the  man  deadfroro, 
natural  causes.  In  his  pocket  was  found  an  identification 
card,  conveying  the  information  that  his  name  was  James  H. 
Lee,  and  that  he  had  no  home.  H,e  also  had  a  newspaper 
clipping,  showing  he  had  recently  advertised  for  work  as  a 
clerk.  The  only  cash  in  evidence  was  one  five-cent  piece. 
— New  York  Herald,  June  26th,  igoo. 

*>  If  he  had  not  enough  of  money  to  defray  expenses  of 
shipping  body  here,  bury  there." — Extract  from  letter  received 
from  wealthy  brother  of  deceased,  living  in  Florida.  This  is 
what  inspired  (rather  provoked)  the  following  poem. 

JUST  a  few  words,  justice  giving 
To  a  strange  young  soul  just  fled; 

'Tis  what  James  H.  Lee,  the  living, 
Says  for  James  H.  Lee,  the  dead. 


"  If  he  had  not  enough  of  money,"  you  wrote, 
"  Be  sure  to  bury  him  there." 


The  Man  with  Enough  of  Money.  43 

But  hold  for  a  moment,  I  just  want  to  note, 
That  I  wouldn't  consider  it  fair 

To  bury  a  man  among  strangers  so  quick, 

Ten  hundred  of  miles  away. 
This  is  my  private  platform,  and  to  it  I'll  stick, 

Till  the  poet's  election  day. 

Yes,  he  died  as  the  papers  said,  Sir, 
And  he  left — well,  he  left  his  will; 

And  when  it  was  opened  and  read,  Sir,  ' 
It  mentioned  a  spot  sweet  and  still 

On  the  banks  of  a  Southern  river, 
As  the  place  he  would  love  to  rest; 

On  the  banks  of  a  Southern  river, 
For  he  loved  the  South  the  best. 

Oh,  he  loved  it,  we  fear,  Sir,  better 
Than  ever  the  South  loved  him. 

As  we  read  through  your  strange,  sad  letter, 
Our  eyes  grew  wet  and  dim. 

We  have  thought  it,  Sir,  terrible  pity 
That  his  dust  should  be  doomed  to  lie 

In  the  Potter's  field  foul  of  a  city; 
It  was  hard  enough,  Sir,  to  die 


44  The  Peacock. 

Far  away  without  father  or  mother 

Or  sister,  to  comfort  or  cheer; 
Without  the  handclasp  of  a  brother; 

Oh,  we  cannot,  Sir,  bury  him  here. 

We  cannot  because  we  are,  human; 

We  will  honor  his  last  request. 
We  cannot  because,  Sir,  a  zvoman 

Once  held  him  against  her  breast. 

Sir,  we  went  to  the  old  morgue-keeper, 
And  we  begged  for  his  ice-cold  dust; 

When  over  the  soulless  sleeper 
We  performed  our  tender  trust. 

Full  of  sweet  Southern  flowers  we  shall  fill  his 
Grave  when  time  and  when  tide  will  allow; 

Until  then  wreaths  of  laurel  and  lilies 
Crown  his  casket  above  his  brow. 

While  over  his  young  heart,  broken 

By  strife  and  by  storm  so  dire, 
Red  garlands  of  roses  betoken 

That  his  path  lay  through  the  fire. 

All  in   silk,   Sir,   we've  shrouded  the  martyr 

indeed, 
To  a  city's  black  crime— UNCONCERN ! 


The  Man  with  Enough  of  Money.  45 

Too  proud  he  to  beg  from  or  barter  with  greed, 
He  asked  but  the  chance,  Sir,  to  earn — 


Just  the  chance  so  unjustly  denied  him  alway 
(Takes  an  anchor  to  hold  the  ship  fast). 

Sir,  he  died  like  a  hero;  deride  him  you  may, 
But  he's  found  him  a  home  at  last. 

He  has  found  him  a  home  where  all  of  his  bills 
Will  be  paid  by  the  Bank  of  Love; 

But  his  dust,  it  shall  sleep  by  the  beautiful  hills 
Of  the  South  till  its  borne  above. 

We   shall   carry   him   back,    with   or   without 

thanks, 

And  according,  dear  Sir,  to  his  will, 
We  shall  lay  him  to  rest  by  the  river's  green 

banks, 
Where  the  song  birds  may  sing  to  him  till — 

Well,  until  all  the  money  of  men's  but  a  puff 

Of  smoke  in  the  blue-burnt  air, 
And    then,    Sir,    we    guess    HE'LL    HAVE 
MONEY  ENOUGH 

For  he  goes  to  his  God  from  there! 


46  The  Peacock. 


WHEN  I  SAW  HER  LYING  THERE. 

WHEN  I  saw  her  lying  there, 

Hidden  in  her  silken  hair, 

Shrouded  sweet  in  snowy  white, 

By  this  Sabbath's  morning-  light, — 

Saw  her  by  an  accident, 

Through  a  door  by  which   I   went — 

On  her  soft,  sequestered  couch; — 

I  must  confess  (  Tis  truth,  I  vouch) 

I  paused,  I  looked,  I  smiled,  I  thought: — 

(  'Tis  doubtful,  whether,  though,  I  ought) 

Here  lies  a  jewel  rare  and  fair, 
Which  some  man  soon  will  wish  to  wear; 
Which  some  man  soon  will  work  to  own; — 
A  human  gem — not  one  of  stone. 

Yes,  there  she  lay  and  slept  and  dreamed; — 
An  angel  in  my  sight  she  seemed. 
But  still  the  fair-haired  darling  slept; — 
As  yet  she'd  been  from  trouble  kept. 
But  as  earth's  purest  gems  must  be 


When  I  Saw  Her  Lying  There.     47 

All  cut  and  crystalized,  so  she 
Must  some  time  pass  from  peace  to  pain, 
Must  leave  life's  sunshine  for  life's  rain; 
Must  pass  from  playfulness  to  strife 
And  toil  and  care — yes — such  is  life. 

Yet,  Fairy,  from  life's  misty  mine 
You'll  be  brought  forth  to  brightly  shine; 
When  you've  emerged,  you  will  adorn 
Some  higher  sphere  than  on  this  morn. 
If  you'll  engage  to  meet  me  then, 
I  vow  by  my  lead-pencil  pen, 
That  I  will  the  appointment  keep ; — 
Please  be  awake,  though — not  asleep. 


48  The  Peacock. 


THE  HERO  OF  TWO  FLAGS. 

LINES    ON    THE    LEE    MONUMENT,     LEE     PARK, 
RICHMOND,    VIRGINIA. 

THE  name  of  Lee — would  none  but  he, 

And  his  pure  lineage  unmixed, 
Had  borne  it ;  for  it  then  would  be 

Far  'bove  all  soil  forever  fixed. 

Still,  come  what  will,  from  now  until 
Time's  old  and  hath  itself  forgot, 

Can  man's  whole  soul  fail  to  fill  and  thrill 
With  love  to  hear  his  name  ?    May  not 

Then  one  like  me,  honored  so  much 
To  bear  that  name,  while  not  of  kin, 

Express  the  great  Virginian  such 
As  all  the  world  knows  he  has  been  ? 

Virginia  in  virginity 

To  name  of  Lee  plighted  her  troth; 
Virginia's  fair  first  family 

Our  Robert  Edward  Lee  brought  forth. 


The  Hero  of  Two  Flags.          49 

A  warrior  for  his  country's  good 
He  thought  to  be,  and  well  did  train, 

And  Lee  failed  not  in  all  he  could 

To  save  the  stars  and  stripes  from  stain. 

His  genius  mounts  of  Mexico, 

And  Montezuma's  Halls  well  knew; 

Where'er  his  country  called  to  go, 
Lee  went ;  and  to  his  trust  was  true. 

But  when  'twas  torn  asunder  wide, 
The  soldier,  who  on  arms  had  slept, 

Awoke — to  cast  the  flag  aside 

For  which  he'd  fought — awoke  and  wept. 

'Gainst  his  own  blood  and  home  his  hand, 
He  could  not  lift — God's  voice  in  Mars, 

He  heard — and  crossed,  at  his  command, 
From  "  stripes  and  stars  "  to  "  stripes  and 
bars." 

Beneath  the  one  he  bravely  fought 

That  wealth  and  peace  with  us  might  dwell; 
To  better  blessings  still  he  sought 

To  aid  the  South,  which,  falling,  fell. 
4 


50  The  Peacock. 

Around  our  firesides,  noble  Lee, 
Our  children  hear  how  fated  laws 

Decreed  that  slaves  should  he  set  free, 

Who're  worse  than  slaves  since  "  Our  Lost 
Cause  "  ! 

The  field  was  lost — all  was  not  lost ! 

Was  might  'gainst  right  ?    But  here  have  we 
Reared  up  a  monument  of  cost, 

To  testify  our  love  to  thee. 

Sit,  face  to  south,  on  "Traveler"  now, 

Majestic   form  in  uniform; 
\Yell  may  the  south  winds  smooth  thy  brow — 

It  once  pressed  north  through  leaden  storm. 

Grant's  northern  troops  around  him  cried : 
"  Lee  is  immortal! — can't  you  see?" 

While  southern  soldiers  round  thee  died ; 
And,  dying,  lisped,  "  Immortal  Lee. !  " 

No  statue  then,  of  stone  and  steel, 

Need  we  for  Lee ;  for  memory 
Of  deeds  of  zeal  for  country's  weal 

Survives  through  all  eternity. 


The  Critic.  51 


THE  CRITIC. 

OH,  Critic,  why  not  expand  your  mind, 
So  that  between  man  and  events  you'll  find 
More  just  comparison — tell  more  that's  true — 
Give  honor  to  him  to  whom  honor  is  due  ? 
Why  permit  the  environments  of  fickle  youth 
To  outrage  all  equity,  pervert  the  truth? 
It's  not  always  the  head  that's  laurel-crowned 
That  is  greatest  or  wisest  in  the  world  to  be 
found. 

Don't  say  Webster,  Lincoln  or  Cicero 
Had  never  an  equal,  unless  you  know ; 
For  if  the  truth  were  but  known  and  to  the 

world  given, 

As  it  surely  will  be  at  the  entrance  to  heaven, 
We'd  find  there  \vere  those  who  in  the  race 

could  have  run, 
And  have  out-Gesared  Csesar — been  great  as 

Gladstone. 
Nor  is  it  always  the  heart  with  a  halo  around 


52  The  Peacock. 

That's  most  worthy  of  homage  and  praise  most 
profound. 

Don't  argue  that  Grant  was  greater  than  Lee, 
Better  tell  us  the  earth  surpasses  the  sea ; 
For  never  a  conqueror  left  battlefield 
But  had  coped  with  one  who  could  mightily 

wield. 

Let  us  never  forget  when  we  vict'ry  commend 
That  the  private  was  there  from  beginning  to 

end ; 

And  it's  not  alone  the  General  in  uniform 
\Yho  wins  the  battle  and  braves  the  storm. 

You  dare  not  assert  that  when  Napoleon  fell 
Wellington  whipped  him —  "  he  was  trapped  " 

—then — well ; 

There  never  was  won  a  conflict  for  right, 
But  the  noblest  of  all  expired  in  the  fight. 
Oh,  Critic,  come  forth.     Rise  up  in  your  power 
Above  prejudice,  wrong.     Criticise  each  hour; 
But  of  victor  or  vanquished — speaking  well  or 

ill- 
Let  truth  be  untrammeled — oh !  truth  give  us 

still. 


The  Man  who  Never  was  Born.     53 


THE  MAN  WHO  NEVER  WAS  BORN. 

WELL,  Sir,  here's  to  the  man  who  never  was 

born ; — 
Ah,   you   say  that  sounds   strange,    Sir,   and 

funny ; 

Til  explain ;  he's  unhappy,  yet  never  forlorn, — 
He's  the  man  writh  enough  of  money. 

Though  'tis  true  that  the  man  who  never  was 

born, 

Once  addressed  a  poor  poet  as  "  pappy," 
He's  unborn  just  the  same,  Sir;  acknowledge 

the  corn : 
He's  the  man  who  is  perfectly  happy. 

When  you  see,  Sir,  this  man  who  never  was 

born, 

He's  not  monstrous;  he's  every  whit  human: 
He's  the  man  who  e'er  night  time  retires  or  at 

morn 
E'er  awakes  without  thinking  of  woman. 


54  The  Peacock. 


TETE-A-TETE. 

THERE'S  just  one  whom  I  know  in  the  city, 
Only  one,  whom  I'll  surely  allow 

Is  bright  in  her  home-life,  and  duty 
Casts  no  shadow  across  her  brow. 

Every  dawn  brings  a  merry  "  good  morning," 
Each  dusk  hears  sincerely  "  good  night ;" 

And  in  the  garden  this  flower  is  adorning 
There's  hardly  an  action  but's  right. 

Each  task,  with  its  trials  and  troubles, 

Is  a  pleasure  instead  of  a  pain; 
For  so  often  her  voice,  as  music, 

Is  heard  through  both  sunshine  and  rain 

And  this  is  written  so  you  can  tell  her, 

Ere  it's  late  or  else  is  forgot, 
That  she's  heir  to  a  whole  half  acre 

Of  my  estate — in  memory's  plot. 


Grant's  Tornb.  55 


GRANT'S  TOMB. 

WHAT  man  is  there  in  all  the  world 

Who  can  approach  to  Grant's  great  tomb, 

And,  beholding  our  Hag  of  might  unfurled, 
Not  love — e'en  die — for  his  land — his  home? 

Is  there  one  so  base  who  could  not  say, 
As  he  stood  by  Grant's  remains, 

That  his  soul  was  moved  from  that  very  day 
Toward  nobler  and  grander  planes? 

None  can  there  be  who  within  this  shrine 
Could  think  of  the  Union  so  strong  and  true 

And  not  sing  in  his  heart,  as  I  write  from  mine 
Of  the  "  Star- Spangled  Banner,"  bright  red 
white  and  blue. 

Oh,  that  marvelous  pile  speaks  with  wondrous 
tone 

Of  the  love  in  our  every  breast 
For  the  man  who  led  his  millions  on, 

And  won  for  us  peace  and  rest. 


56  The  Peacock. 

He  conquered  once  and  his  deeds  still  give, 
To  preserve  the  great  Union  by, 

The  truth,  "  'Tis  not  all  of  life  to  live, 
Nor  all  of  death  to  die." 

Speak  on,  them  everlasting  stones, 
And  Grant's  fame  always  increase; 

Signal  his  words  to  all  earth's  zones — 
"  Let  us  have  peace  "• — eternal  peace. 


Grab  dat  Cotton  wid  dem  dar  Paws.  57 


GRAB  DAT  COTTON  WID  DEM  DAR 
PAWS. 

GRAB  dat  cotton  wid  dem  dar  paws, 
Daddy  gwine  er  git  er  little  Santy  Clauz. 
I  know  Jack  Frost  dem  fingers  bite, 
But  Santy  is  er  comin  er  round  ternight. 

CHORUS. 

Possum  and  taters,  butter  an'  brandy, 
Egg-nog  cake  an'  Murlassiz  candy; 
Drinkin's  and  dancin's,  banjur  pickin's, 
An'  er  eatin'  er  Mistur  Jones'  chickins, — 
O  Lor'  fur  dis  cause, 
Grab  dat  cottpn  wid  dem  dar  paws. 

Dat  dar  crack  cotton  you  fetched  frum  fur; 
Out  er  rows  dats  long  an'  short  cornder ; 
You's  walk  forty  mile — lost  lots  er  time — 
Fur  dar  crack  cotton,  an'  it's  wuf  one  dime. 

Wid  dat  one  dime  go  play  crack  loo — 
Win  muney  fur  me,  win  muney  fur  you ; 


5&  The  Peacock. 

We'll  sin  again  shins — heads  crack  fur  a  fac' 
Till  we's  spilt  out  ol'  Santy's  track. 

Grab  clat  cotton  wid  dem  dar  paws, 
Daddy  gwin  er  git  er  little  Santy  Clauz ; 
Chris'mas  don't  come  but  once  er  year, 
So  may  you,  po'  niggur,  hav'  you'  share. 


A  Song  of  the  Sea.  59 


A  SONG  OF  THE  SEA. 

DIURNALLY  coming  and  going, 
Eternally  ebbing  and  flowing. 
Endlessly  leaping   and    falling, 
Recklessly  rocking — appalling ; 
Restlessly  swaying  and  swelling: 
Its  unpronounceable  spelling, 
Its  infinite  rolling  and  reeling — 
Gives  an  inexpressdble  feeling. 

Swaying  sublimely  and  curling, 
Swinging  serenely   and   swirling, 
Sweeping  and  swishing  and  slashing, 
Roaring  and  pouring  'and  dashing, 
Solemnly  sighing  and  surging — 
Ever  beseeching  or  urging, — 
Such  seems  the  deep,  dark  ocean, 
The  wonderful,  weird,  white  ocean; 
Such  seems  the  bright,  blue  ocean — 
So  sounds  the  still,  stern  ocean, 
Such  seems  the  strange,  strong  ocean,- 
Such  IS  the  wide,  wild  ocean, 
According  to  my  notion. 


60  The  Peacock. 


LINES  TO  A  WOMAN. 

THERE  are  women  who  will,  there  are  women 

who  won't 
Quite  imagine  they  think  they  could  love 

you; 
There  are  women  who  do,  there  are  women  who 

don't 
Believe  they  were  born  far  above  you. 

There  are  women  whose  No  might  be  trans- 
lated yes ; 

There's  a  WOMAN — oh  listen  about  her — 
Who  is  everything  good,  and  yet  naughty,  I 

guess, 
Because,  though  divine,  she's  a  doubter. 

This  doubter  this  writer  once  claimed  for  his 

friend ; 

He  no  longer  as  such  she  regards; 
Our  friendship,  though  faithful,  has  come  to 

an  end, 
Without  enmity,  yet  we're  at  odds. 


Lines  to  a  Woman. 


61 


Yes,  this  friendship,  full  dear,  it  just  had  to 

end, 

Though  as  pure  as  the  blue  above  her ; 
For   what   mortal   man   could   long  be    HER 

FRIEND 
Without  being  also — her  LOVER  ? 


62  The  Peacock. 


LINES  TO  A  COOK. 

I  hope  the  hands  that  cooked  this  cake 
May  handle  roses  year  by  year; 
I  trust  no  thorn  shall  on  them  make 
A  scar,  and  that  time  bring  no  tear 

To  dim  the  eyes  which  saw  its  sweet, 
Soft  surface — eyes  too  far  away— 
Too  far  away  my  own  to  meet— 
Until  some  more  auspicious  day. 

I  hope  no  harm  will  cause  her  heart— 

My  mother's  heart — to  ever  ache; 

I  hope  that  "Home,  Sweet  Home"-— its  art, 

Its  love,  its  loved  ones — for  her  sake 

Will  grow  more  beautiful  and  grand. — 
Meantime  my  thoughts  shall  daily  take 
Me  back; — in  mind  I'll  clasp  the  hand 
That  made  me  what —  I  cat — this  cake. 


To  the  Soul  of  a  Song.  63 


TO  THE  SOUL  OF  A  SONG. 

Oh  !  that  I  might  join  the  Choir  Invisible 
Of  those  immortal  dead  who  live  again 
In  minds  made  better  by  their  presence. 

— GEORGE  ELIOT= 

ARTIFICIAL  instrument 
Genius  never  yet  hath  lent 
Such  sweet  sounds  as  thrill  and  throng 
Through  our  hearts  at  human  song. 
Organs  of  them  all  the  choice, 
Vie  in  vain  with  human  voice; — 
Vainly  vie  with, woman's  sure, — 
Rich  and  resonant  and  pure. 


One  there  is  in  our  church  choir 
Who  can  cause  a  flame  of  fire 
To  enkindle  every  heart. 
("In  sweet  music  is  such  art.") 
Hear  her  Sabbath  morn  and  eve ! 
You'll  be  better,  and  believe. 
Listening  to  a  lingering  note 


64  The  Peacock. 

From  her  white  and  dainty  throat, 

Like  a  benediction  seems 

From  the  Land  of  Love  and  Dreams. 

Happier  and  better  by  her, 

We  can  say  her  hymns  inspire. 

Solos  sedative  and  sweet 

Make  our  hearts  with  Heaven  beat. 

Some  sweet  day  around  the  Throne 

May  our  voices  with  her  own, 

In  the  praise  of  God  unite — 

Sing-  of  love  and  life  and  light! 


The  Death  of  the  Centuries.       65 


THE  DEATH  OF  THE  CENTURIES. 

EACH  passing  century 

Men  grow  more  wise  and  free. 

The  centuries  which  have  flown, 

Each   mounted   higher   throne; 

And,  dying,  each  gave  birth 

To  blessings  more  of  worth. 

Progressing  thus  shall  come 

The  world's  millennium  : , 

In  nations  all  God's  will  well  done, 

And  every  man  a  Washington. 


00  The  Peacock. 


THE  HEART  SONG. 

DID  you  hear  that  cymbal  sounding 

Beneath  your  window  to-day 
If  so,  with  its  living  music. 

What  seemed  it  to  you  to  say? 

Was  there  not  a  thrill  delightful 

When  that  song — the  sweet  maiden's  art- 
Up  through  your  window  was  wafted 

Right  into  your  very  heart? 

Did  you  ever  ask  the  question 
To  yourself  as  you  passed  along; 

"  For  what  is  this  maiden  singing, 

Whence  comes  this  marvelous  song?" 

How  oft,  if  she's  singing  for  money, 
She  sings  her  song  in  vain? 

But  you  left  her  empty-handed- 
She   only   smile;1 — then   sang  again. 

This  is  not  the  "  Maid  of  Athens/' 

But  she's  of  just  as  fair  a  hue; 
Her  crimson  cheeks  this  morning 

Speak  of  skies  of  Italian  blue. 


The  Heart  Song.  67 

Yes,  she  came  from  that  land  of  sunshine, 

Crossed  over  the  ocean  blue ; 
And  the  songs  which  she  learned  in  Childhood, 

She  sings  them  to  me  and  to  you. 

Just  sings  them  because  she  is  happy, 
Her  pure  heart  never  grows  sad ; 

Sings  from  morn  until  evening 
From  a  soul  that  is  always  glad. 

And  the  man  with  the  old  hand-organ, 

Who  travels  along  by  her  side, 
Plays  ever  without  a  murmur, — 

She's  his  little  ancfel  bride. 


•,-v 


Think  kindly  of  them — won't  you? 

They  have  started,  as  you  and  I, 
On  the  journey  of  life  to  battle, 

And  it's  battle  thus  or  die ! 

She's  as  pure  as  the  dew  of  heaven, 

You  can  know  it  by  her  song ; 
And    heart-songs    are    worth    more    than    a 
penny — 

When  you  see  her  help  her  along. 


68  The  Peacock. 

They  proceed  from  corner  to  corner, 
Or  from  house  to  house  they  go, 

With  organ  and  song  and  cymbal, 
But  returns  are  exceeding  slow. 

And  at  evening  they  go  to  their  cottage 
Way  down  on  the  river's  brink; 

But  the  pennies  which  they  have  gathered 
Are  few,  and  no  doubt  they  think 

That  the  world  is  very  cruel 

And  it  is  useless  to  sing  or  to  plead, 

Or  else  it's  so  busy  and  selfish, 
It  cares  not  to  heed  their  need. 

No,  it's  he — not  she — that  thinks  so, 

For  on  each  successive  morn 
She  rises  and  sings  and  cheers  us, 

And  helps  the  world  adorn. 


The  Black-birds.  69 


THE  BLACK-BIRDS. 

IN  the  land  where  summers  simmer — 
Land  than  any  dream  much  dimmer — 
Once  a  mystical  Miss  Mimmer, 

Met  a  man, 

Plodding  o'er  a  plowed-up  prairie, 
In  the  quest  of  black-birds,   wary; — 
But  (mysterious  missionary) 

Off  she  ran. 

Crash:  the  gun  slipped  from  his  shoulder; — 
Fast  he  flew  till  by  a  boulder, 
Soon  he  overtook  and  told  her 

Who  he  was : 

When,  with  modest  mien,  Miss  Mimmer, 
Manifesting  still  more  timor, 
Sudden  turned — and  showed  to  him  a — 

Pair  of  stars. 

Ah,  those  stars  (her  EYES)  were  glistening; 
For  his  voice  she  stood  there  listening — • 
Like  a  mother  at  the  christening 


70  The  Peacock. 

Of  her  child. 

Now,  this  hunter — wolves  had  trailed  him, 
THINGS  of  all  kinds  had  assailed  him; 
But  his  heart  had  never  failed  him 

In  the  wild : 

Yet  he  halted — hesitated 
Here ; — this  unsophisticated 
Girl,  to  no  man  near  related, 

(\Yhence  this  smoke?) 
Cast  at  him  her  withering  glances. 
First  he  thought,  "  I'll  take  no  chances"; 
Then,  "  the  hunter  never  can't  says"; 

So  he  spoke. 

"  Miss — I  beg  your  pardon  "    (smiling)  ;— 
"  Maybe  I'm  in  error,  styling 
You  as  '  Miss  ' ;  but  I  was  whiling 

Time  away 

At  a  task  a  neighbor  set  me — 
Killing  black-bifds,  when  you  met  me. 
I'll  assist  you,  if  you'll  let  me — 

If  I  may." 

"  Are  you  not  that  Daniel  Boone,  Sir,  ' 
Who  can  stay  the  silver  moon,  Sir? 
Who  has  captured  every  coon,  Sir, 


The  Black-birds.  71 

That  exists? 

If  you  are — then  you're  no  other 
Than  the  man  who  slew  my  brother. 
Oh,  I'm  going  to  my  mother, 
Sir,  it  mists." 

''  Yes,  it  mists  and  it  amazes 
This  poor  dying  bunch  of  daisies, 
For  this  drouth — behold  what  blazes — 

Look,  what  smoke ! 
We're  a  mile  from  yonder  stubble; 
We  will  burn  as  bursts  a  bubble : 
Maiden,  move  or  there'll  be  trouble, — 

That's  no  joke."    • 

Thus  it  came  to  pass  Miss  Mimmer 
Either  hence  must  fly  with  him  or — 
Face  that  furious,  fiery  film  o'er 

All  the  ground. 

Ere  he  knows  it,  fast  she's  going. 
Back  her  beauteous  black  hair  blowing, 
Where  the  black-birds  search  the  sowing, 

Safe  and  sound. 

But  the  flames,  like  youths  in  laughter, 
Hotly  hurl  themselves  close  after; — 
Look — one  leaps  between — they'll  have  to 


72  The  Peacock. 

Separate. 

On  the  fresh  fed  fire  still  rages, 
O'er  the  cactus  and  the  sages ; 
So  have  burned  through  all  the  ages — 

Fires   of  FATE. 

Through  the  fog  and  smoke  he  staggers, 
Searching — in  his  hands  his  daggers; — 
\Yhile  her  corpse — no  beast  would  drag  her's 

To  his  den.— 

Saving  life,  the  far-off  swimmer 
Thinks   of   not   what's   thought   of   him   or — 
Well,  one  like  him  sought  Miss  Mimmer, 

Until  ten— 

Until  midnight  sought  Miss  Glimmer, 
In  the  moonlight's  glow  and  glimmer; 
Heaven,  he  hoped,  had  saved  for  him  her 

Hand  and   Heart. 
Ah!  at  last  he's  bending  o'er  her; 
Hear  him  helplessly  implore  her: 
"  Maiden,  speak  "  ;  but  nevermore  her 
Lips  will  part. 

Could  he — could  he  live  without  her? — 
Shreds  of  cloth  he  wrapped  about  her, 
Then  with  feelings  far  devouter 


The  Black-birds.  73 

Than  he'd  known. 
Took  he  up  the  Indian  Maiden, 
To  a  tomb  by  Nature  made  in 
Certain  caverns  he  had  stayed  in 

Once  alone. 

With  him  went  his  faithful  pointer, 
Watching  as  he  would  anoint  her; 
Heir  with  Christ  was  she  and  joint-heir; 

Comfort,  that. 

Twice  he  thought  he  heard  her  calling, 
While  his  tears  were  gently  falling — 
While  his  pointer  in  appalling 

Silence  sat.— 

Gently  late  next  night  he  laid  her 

In  the  grave  that  God  had  made  her  ;— 

Do  loved  faces  ever  fade  or 

Can  love  end? 

Could  the  hunter  e'er  forget  her? 
No !  for  he  had  found  a  letter, 
Wnich  I,  though  to  him  I'm  debtor, 

Here  append: 

"  Sir,  of  daisies  you  have  spoken 
In  a  way  which  would  betoken 
You  are  not  that  wild,  unbroken 


74  The  Peacock. 

Boone  I  hate: 

One  who  feels  for  e'en  a  flower, 
Could  not  slay  so  much  per  hour — 
Sir — I'm  dying — and  the  shower — 

Came  too  late!" 

And  the  Hunter? — still  he's  waiting 
For  his  summons,  oft  debating 
If  'tis  best  when  tales  relating, 

Truth  to  tell. 

Still  his  gun,  that  day  forgotten, 
Lies  beneath  some  weeds,  half  rotten, 
And  the  black-birds,  never  shot  on — 

They  are  well. 

Every  night  a  thousand,  flocking, 
Move  about  the  cavern,  mocking; 
For  they  know  no  gun  is  cocking 

Within   range. 

And  Miss  Mimmer  still  is  sleeping, 
With  the  black-birds  vigil  keeping, 
In  the  field  where  now's  no  reaping — 

Such  the  change! 

But  each  morn  the  black-birds  taking 
Wing  are  symbols  of  her  waking, 
When  she'll  bless  the  hunter's  aching 


The  Black-birds. 

Heart  with  bliss : 
In  th'  Elysian  fields  he'll  meet  her; 
Kindly  with  her  kindred  greet  her, 
While  ten  thousand  birds  sing  sweeter 

Songs  than  this. 


75 


76  The  Peacock. 


BROOKLYN  BRIDGE. 

COMBINING  usefulness  with  beauty, 
The  old  bridge  does  her  duty  well, 

Safely  serving  millions  over, 
She  could  many  stories  tell 

Across  her  spans  built  so  fantastic, 

Within  the  wake  of  spire  and  dome, 
The  youthful  trip  with  step  elastic— 
•  The  aged  feel  their  way  toward  home. 

Builded  by  skillful  engineering, 

She  has  foundations  firm  and  sound ; 

Nor  time  nor  tide  can  with  all  wearing 
Affect  its  fame  the  world  around. 

Uniting  what  were  sister  cities 
Into  a  grander,  "  Greater  "  one, 

Brooklyn  Bridge,  which  no  one  pities, 
Has  a  task  that's  never  done. 

Roar  of  wheels  and  tread  of  footstep 
Never  ceases  night  or  day; 


Brooklyn  Bridge.  77 

"  Onward,  onward — ever  onward/' 
Is  what  each  one  seems  to  say. 

Millions  from  every  clime  and  nation 
Known  to  this  terrestrial  sphere, 

Pass  in  sadness  or  in  gladness 

O'er  Brooklyn's  Bridge  from  year  to  year. 

They  may  come  and  go  forever 

Till  generations  have  passed  by, 
But  Brooklyn  Bridge,  across  East  river, 

Will  conduct  them  o'er  without  a  sigh. 

Now  let  us  all  learn  well  a  lesson 

Which  Brooklyn  Bridge  cannot  but  teach 

A  bridge's  spans  thus  joined  together 

Go  farther  than  our  span  of  life  can  reach. 

Just  like  the  bridge,  let's  never  waver 

Nor  rest  till  every  duty's  done, 
Make  our  lives  the  means  of  helping  over 

The  river  of  trouble  each  helpless  one, 

So  stand  upon  this   rock,   rememb'ring 
There's  a  promise  we'll  not  fall ; 

Toiling,   hoping,   loving,   living 
One  for  the  other — each  for  all. 


78  The  Peacock. 


To  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Republic,  in  Commemorative 
Camp,  at  Philadelphia,  Pa.,  September  4th  to  9th.  1899,  the 
following  lines,  written  on 

THE  AVENUE  OF    FAME, 

Are  sincerely  Dedicated  by  the  Author. 

ARMY  GRAND  of  the  Republic — 
Welcome ! — You  we  gladly  greet ; 
Philadelphia  for  the  faithful 
Feels  her  heart  profoundly  beat; — 

For  your  sons  who've  shown  their  valor, 
Pitted  late  'gainst  Sons  of  Spain, 
Taught  they  to  your  footsteps  follow, 
All  our  enemies  are  slain. 

And  thus  you  as  the  descendants 

Of  the  Revolution  sires, 

Learned  from  they,  as  they  from  others, 

How  to  feed  fair  freedom's  fires. 

Men  must  die,  but  through  the  ages 
Their  divinest  deeds  will  live; 


The  Avenue  of  Fame.  79 

Such  as  yours  to  history's  pages 
Greater,   grander  glory  give. 

But  ere  death  in  peace — communion; 
Here  in  eighteen  ninety-nine, 
Veterans  in  a  rare  reunion 
Drink,  not  blood,  but  ruby  wine. 

Here  we've  made  you  Courts  of  Honor — 
Built  you  Avenues  of  Fame ; — 
Hailed  we  so  the  Grand  New  Army 
Ere  the  Old  Grand  Army  came. 

Reverence  and  love  undying 
Laurel  wreaths  and  immortelles, 
Symbolize  to  you  who' re  ringing 
Round  your  camps  now  peaceful  bells. 

For  a  separate  Southern  nation 
Fought  the  South ;  you,  Soldiers,  sought 
That  your  sister  fair  no  other 
Name  should  take,  and  victory  wrought. 

Peoples  listen,  now  we  christen 
Us  the  "  Re-United  States  " ; 
Blue  and  Gray  together  go  now 
Up  to  Glory's  golden  gates ! 


8o  The  Peacock. 

Few  the  years  till  fifty  thousand 
On  such  "  Avenue  of  Fame  " 
Cannot  gather ; — no  encampment 
Evermore  will  he  the  same. 

Comrade,  arm  in  arm  with  comrade, 
Pointing  to  the  powerful  past, 
Well,  ah  well,  here  may  you  linger, 
For  this  time  may  he  the  last. 

Oft,  too  oft,  on  field  of  battle, 
Have  you  broken  camp  before, 
And  returning  from  the  burning, 
Knew  a  comrade  was  no  more ! 

Freely  Philadelphia  gives  you 
All  she  can  now  of  good  cheer : 
Army  Grand  of  the  Republic, 
May  you  not  decrease  next  year. 

Take  our  hearts'  best  wishes  with  you 
From  this  land  of  William  Perm ; 
God  be  with  you,  Grand  good  Army, 
Till  somewhere  we  meet  again. 


Verses  to  Miss  Blank.  81 


VERSES  TO  MISS  BLANK. 

To  Miss  Blank, 
Whom  I  would  thank, 
If  she  would  rank 
Me  with  her  friends. 
*       *       *       *       * 

HAD  a  little  of  typewriting, 
That  upon  a  recent  day 
I  wished  done,  and,  so,  inditing 
It,  I  went  to  the  "  O.  K." 

Yes,  quite  hurriedly  I  wended 
Through  the  crowd  my  thoughtless  way; 
But  before  my  journey  ended — 
Well,  Fm  thinking  some  to-day! — 

Thinking  of  the  unexpected — 
That  which  comes  to  pass. — Just  so! — 
And  I'm  slightly  now  dejected, 
'Cause  there's  something  I  don't  know. 

I  don't  know  the  name  of  some  one — 
Of  a  gravely  going  girl ! — 
9 


82  The  Peacock. 

Has  a  sort  of  air  to  stun  one — 
Set  one's  soul  all  in  a  whirl. 

Saw  her  on  the  elevator — 
Strange  ! — she  got  off  on  my  floor ! 
I  should  like  right  well  to  state  her — 
But  I'll  meet  her  nevermore  (  ?) 

If  she  knew,  though,  in  this  city, 
I've  no  friend  or  relative, 
Don't  you  think  she'd  just  through  pity 
Some  sweet  entertainment  give 

To  a  man  who'se  just  as  lonely 
As  a  lonely  man  can  be? 
He  would  not  ask  much,  but  only, 
Wish  that  Sometimes  slyly  he 

Might  but  be  the  slender  sharer 
Of  the  valued  company 
Of  a  girl  who  seems  some  fairer 
Than  some  others  seem  to  be. 

'Course,  she's  no  companion  needing, 
Not,  at  least,  among  my  sex; 
For  a  book  I  saw  her  reading, 
And  to  interrupt  might  vex.  • 


Verses  to  Miss  Blank.  83 

Still  if  she  could  spare  a  little 
(And  she  could  if  she  but  would) 
Of  her  friendship — just  a  little — 
I  would  try  to  be  as  good. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Ah !  they  say  she  doesn't  do  it — 

(Typewriting)  ; 

Yet,  perhaps,  if  I  should  plead, 
Since  she  this  can't  write  (to  rue  it), 
She  will  condescend  to  read. 

Laugh,  while  o'er  these  pages  leaning, 
Laugh,  and  read  between  the  lines. 
There  you  might  see  more  of  meaning 
Than  the  verse  itself  confines. 


Know  Miss  Blank?— 
Bet  my  bank 
Account  she's  frank 
Toward  her  friends. 


84  The  Peacock. 


THE  MODERN  MAUD  MULLER. 

MAUD  MULLER — same  sweet  smiling  lass — 
Just  read — just  hear  what's  come  to  pass. 

I've  read  on  Maud  ten  volumes  pat, 
But  what  all  fail  to  note  is  that 

She  hied  her  forth  one  winter's  day, 
To  give  her  good  pet  horse  some  hay, — 

Same  pure  sweet  hay  herself  had  cut, 
Same  hay  the  Judge  once  smelled  when — but 

I'd  better  tell  you  how  Maud  came 

To  own  that  horse  "  Black  Judge,"  by  name. 


I  learn  from  an  authentic  source, 

The  Judge  retraced  his  lonely  course 

That  day  just  as  the  sun  went  down, 
With  horse,  heart,  honor,  hope,  renown. 

He  saw  her  hay,  sweet-smelling  still; 
He  saw  her  house  upon  the  hill ; 


The  Modern  Maud  Muller.          85 

He  saw — that  is  to  say  we  think, 
He  saw  his  horse  must  have  a  drink. 

Therefore  he  rode  up  to  the  well- 
Miss  Maud  was  there ; — why  ?     Who  can  tell  ? 

Of  course,  the  farmer's  darling-  daughter 
Half  drowned  both  horse  and  man  with  water. 

The  Judge,  he  drank  so  much  so  quick 
He  suddenly  grew  deathly  sick. 

He  in  Maud's  father's  house  grew  worse, 
And  Maud — well  Maud  the  Judge  did  nurse. 

He  saw  her  fair  form  flitting  by; — 
He  saw  it  with  a  Judge's  eye. 

He  felt  each  day  her  tender  touch, 
He  loved  her  ministrations  much. 

He  loved  her,  too,  you  may  believe; 
At  least  he  did  not  haste  to  leave. 

And  when  he  did  he  left  a- foot ; — 
He'd  in  Maud's  father's  stable  put 

His  best  black  horse ; — it  made  a  stir, 
For  it  belonged,  he  swore,  to  her. 


86 


The  Peacock. 


The  neighbors  did  each  other  nudge; 
They  could  not  comprehend  the  Judge. 

They  talked  and  laughed — they  laughed  and 

talked 
Of  how  the  Judge  had  homeward  walked. 

The  Judge  had  walked  though  oft  before, 
Though  he  had  horses  by  the  score. 

None  knew  but  Maud,  though,  in  that  part, 
He'd  swapped  a  horse  for  a  human  heart. 


I  Hates  to  Call  You.  87 


I  HATES  TO  CALL  YOU,  BUT  I  HAS 
IT  TO  DO. 

WAKE  up  dar,  nigger ;  day's  er  breakin' ; 
De  night's  been  short,  but  atwixt  us  two, 
De  grass  is  er  growin'  while  de  crops  is  er 

makin' ; 
Hates  to  call  you,  but  I  has  it  to  do. 

CHORUS. 

I  hates  to  call  you,  but  I  has  it  to  do. 
I  hates  to  call  you,  but  I  has  it  to  do. 
I  knows  you's  tired  an'  sleepy,  too — 
I  hates  to  call  you  but  I  has  it  to  do. 

Git  up,  Melindy,  an'  fry  dat  bacon 
Afore  I  gits  me  er  'vorce  from  you; 
For  your  old  man  you  sho'  mus'  reckon — 
Hates  to  call  you,  but  he  has  it  to  do. 

Ole  mars'er,  he'll  be  er  rarin'  an  er  pitchin' ; — 
He  wants  dat  acre  weeded  through. 


88  The  Peacock. 

Dar  ain't  one  spark  er  fire  in  de  kitchen — 
Hates  to  call  you,  hut  1  has  it  to  do. 

Wake  up  dar,  nigger — Joshua's  a  comin' ! 
Straight  up  dat  sky  so  bright  an'  blue. 
Dem  honey  bees  he's  done  set  er  hummin' — - 
I  hates  to  call  you,  but  1  has  it  to  do. 


Bobbie's  Toast  unto  a  Ghost.       89 


BOBBIE'S  TOAST  UNTO  A  GHOST. 

DID  you  ever  see  a  ghost 

That  would  make  your  hair  almost 

Stand  up  endwise  in  the  dark? 

(Did  you  ever  miss  your  mark?) 

Did  you  ever  see  one  rise 

Right  before  your  very  eyes? — 

If  you  saw  an  ugly  one 

Did  you  play  the  coward  and  run? 

If  you  didn't,  then  you'd  be 

Braver  than  is  Bobbie  Lee! 

But  I'm  here  to  make  a  boast ; 

Boys,  I've  met  up  with  a  ghost 

Twenty- fourth  of  each  December 

As  far  back  as  I  remember, 

That  is  different  from  the  rest; — 

He  of  all  ghosts  is  the  best. 

I  have  often  near  him  stood, 

And  he's  wonderfully  good : 

Tell  you  what  he's  done  for  me, 

So  that  you  yourselves  may  see. 

Hear,  my  friends,  in  rhyme  my  story 


9°  The  Peacock. 

Of  a  ghost  whose  hair  is  hoary ; 
Of  a  ghost  who's  always  going 
Round  the  world  his  gifts  bestowing. 
Flies  he  far  and  flies  he  near, 
Driving,  as  some  say,  his  deer; 
And  the  only  trace  that's  seen 
Of  the  place  this  ghost  has  been, 
Is  sometimes,  they  say,  a  track 
Down  a  sooty  chimney  back, 
Or  a  dent  upon  house-roofs, 
From  his  deer's  most  dainty  hoofs. 
Children  love  him  and  him  fear, 
For  he  comes  'round  once  a  year — 
Comes  and  frightens  them  to  bed, 
And  then  gives  them  gifts,  'tis  said: 
Pretty  things  that  money  cost, 
He's  an  awful  funny  ghost! 
Now,  I've  given  you  the  wink, 
Let  me  say  just  what  I  think. 
I've  been  huddled  up  in  bed, 
With  the  blankets  'bove  my  head, 
Every  year  on  Christmas  Eve; 
And  I've  tried  to  make  believe 
I  was  sleeping  sure  and  sound 
When  that  ghost  was  coming  round 
All  precautions  I  would  take, 


Bobbie's  Toast  unto  a  Ghost.      91 

But  all  night  I  stayed  awake; 
I  was  not  the  best  of  boys, 
But  the  ghost  left  lots  of  toys, 
And  all  sorts  of  extra  joys, 
That  would  crash  and  make  a  noise. 
Not  one  thing  to  name  that's  sweet, 
But  he  left  for  me  to  eat. 
That's  the  kind  of  ghost  I've  met, 
And  you've  heard  of  him,  I  bet. — 
If  you've  got  a  sweetheart,  tell  her 
(Sadie,  Sue,  or  Cinderella), 
That  the  ghost's  a  fine  old  fellow 
Treating  everybody  mellow — 
Black  or  white  or  red  or  yellow. 
Well,  I've  done  as  I  intended, 
And  my  speech  is  almost  ended. 
Now,  my  mates,  I'll  ask  you  kindly, 
Look  upon  my  failings  blindly. 
And  give  Bob  a  little  glory 
For  his  very  first  ghost  story. 
Boys,  I  tell  you,  as  I  pause, 
This  strange  ghost  is  Santa  Claus! 
Do  you  know  now  who  it  is? 
If  you  don't,  you  won't — Gee  whiz ! 
Now,  before  I  stop,  I  think, 
I'll  suggest  we  often  drink, 


92  The  Peacock. 

In  the  future  near,  this  toast. 
To  this  wise  and  famous  ghost : 
"MAY    NO    BOY    OR    GIRL 
CAUSE 


HERE 


GRIEF     TO     COME 
CLAUS." 


TO     SANTA 


The  Two  Lovers.  93 


THE  TWO  LOVERS ;  OR,  FOUND  AND 
LOST. 

Lines  on  the  statue  of  William  Penn,  City  Hall  Square, 
Philadelphia. 

PHILADELPHIA  found  a  lover, 

Just  two  hundred  years  ago ; 
Crossed  he  the  deep  and  dark  blue  ocean, 

Whence  he  sought  her  soul  to  know. 
To  his  great  warm  heart  he  pressed  her — 

And  again — then  once  again ; 
'Twas  her  long  expected  brother, 

Worthy  Quaker,  William  Penn. 
Open-armed  she  then  embraced  him, 

Threw  ajar  her  urban  gate; 
And,  her  brother's  love  around  her, 

Henceforth  lived  in  stately  state. 

All  her  foes  he  killed  with  kindness, 

Nor  did  ever  Indian  wrong ; 
Dealt  White  Brother  with  Red  Brother, 

As  with  weak  should  deal  the  strong. 
Thus  Miss  Philadelphia's  garments 


94  The  Peacock. 

As  a  nimbus  did  increase; 
Under  trees  of  truthful  treaty 

Smoked  the  calumet  of  peace; 
Till,  his  life  task  well  accomplished, 

Perm  passed  out  of  earthly  ken, 
And  bequeathed  his  loves  and  labors 

To  the  hands  of  other  men. 

Then  Miss  Philadelphia,  mourning, 

Cried  to  those  beyond  the  sea, 
How  this  noble  son  of  England 

Planted  here  his  colony. 
So  they  came  and  cultivated 

The  good  seed  that  Penn  had  sown; 
Till  the  thousands  of  the  sowing 

Into  millions  more  had  grown. 
Then  they  thought  of  Penn's  pure  presence- 

Never  more  on  earth — but  then—- 
His great  Spirit  still  was  with  them, — 

Famous  father  William  Penn. 

"  It  can  never  die — that  spirit- 
But  let  us  his  image  give 

To  the  coming  generations — 
Let  him  in  a  statue  live  "• 

Thus  Miss  Philadelphia's  council 


The  Two  Lovers.  95 

Counseled  her — said  she,  "You  shall''; 
So  with  reverence  we  raised  him 

To  his  lofty  pedestal. 

Stands     he     there     through     wind,     through 
weather, 

Nor  doth  aught  divert  his  gaze, 
Looking  down,  as  if  from  Heaven, 

On  our  good  or  evil  ways. 

Sunbeams  brush  the  dew  each  morning 

From  beneath  his  broad  hat  brim ; 
And  their  last  act  every  evening 

Is  to  sweetly  smile  on  him. 
Reaching  round  him  in  a  circle, 

Lanterns  of  electric  light, 
Shine  like  sunshine  through  the  blackness 

Of  the  city's  fog  at  night. 
"  May  these  bright  lamps  be  my  children," 

Says  the  visage  so  benign, 
"  Emblems  how  all   Pennsylvania 

Lets  the  card  nal  virtues  shine." 

Hourly  cast  we  up  our  glances 

To  that  figure  from  below ; 
Hourly  doth  he  seem  recording 

Whence  we  come  and  where  we  go. 


96  The  Peacock. 

Geometrically  spoken, 

Thou  art  high  above  us,  Perm — 
But  more  high  didst  tower  in  morals, 

While  with  us  a  citizen. 
As  we  look  up  to  thy  statue, 

Even  so  to  thee  thyself 
We  aspire,  and  oft  remember 

Thou  didst  crave  no  earthly  pelf. 

Dear  Philadelphia  soon  was  married; 

We,  her  sons  and  daughters  round 
Perm's  grand  statue  daily  gather; 

It  is  consecrated  ground. 
There  we've  built  us  halls  of  justice, 

Where  repented  sins  are  owned  ; 
There  doth  Wisdom  and  Dame  Mercy 

With  Perm's  spirit  sit  enthroned. 
There  they'll  reign  with  Peace,  and  prosper, 

If  we  like  this  man  of  men 
Mould  our  principles  and  conduct — 

Blessed,  beloved  William  Perm. 

Philadelphia  lost  a  lover, 

Near  two  centuries  ago; 
Parting  from  him — arms  about  him — 

The  farewell  brought  tears  to  flow. 


The  Two  Lovers. 

Yes,  for  father,  mother,  brother, — 

All  in  one  to  her  was  he, 
And  she'll  seldom  find  another 

In  relationship  of  three. 
Stay  his  statue  then,  and  never 

May  a  storm  his  features  mar ; 
Dwell  his  spirit  in  us  ever, 

It  has  made  us  what  we  are. 


97 


98  The  Peacock. 


LINES  TO  A  BRIDEGROOM. 

FROM  our  Colonel  Cupid's  city; 
From  off  the  brave,  bold  breeze, 
From  off  the  blue  sapphire  seas, 
From  out  of  my  own  heart's  ease, 
Receive,  with  your  bride,  friend,  please, 
My  glad  congratulations, 
On  love's  sweet  consummation. 
Receive  this  greeting 
In  lieu  of  meeting. 


Baby  Marie.  99 


IN   MEMORY    OF 

BABY  MARIE, 

INFANT    DAUGHTER    OF 

FRANCES  LEE  AND  JAS.  T.  YOUNG. 

She  was  born  November  1 4th,  1895,  and  was  taken  August  loth, 
2896.     Age,  S  moiths,  27  days. 


"  Is  it  well  with  thee  ?     Is  it  well  with  thy  husband  ?     Is  it 
well  with  the  child  ?     And  she  answered,  it  is  well." 

— II  Kings  iv.  28. 

WE  were  a  band  of  brothers, 
Who  with  each  other  vied, 

To  dearest  love  a  sister 
Whose  presence  gratified. 

That  she'd  be  near  us  always, 

Was  what  we  wished ; — we  knew 

She'd  many  make  life's  May-days, 
And  wintry  ones  make  few. 

But  came  to  see  her  one  day— 
A  single  man  in  heart; 


ioo  The  Peacock. 

And  soon  we  saw — all  saw — they 
Could  ne'er  live  life  apart. 


"Two  little  hands  lay  sweetly  locked; 

Two  faces  o'er  a  cradle  hent  : 
These  pressed  together  while  they  rocked  ; 

Those  watched  a  life  that  love  had  sent." 

"  Beauty  has  no  mortal  father  ; 

Holy  light  her  form  engendered, 
Out  of  tremor,  yearning,  gladness, 

Presage  sweet,  and  joy  remembered." 

Beauty's  gone  —  Marie  has  left  us  — 

But  for  fairer,  kinder  climes; 
Beauty,  of  whom  God  bereft  us, 

Hears  now  Heaven's  soft  sons  and  chimes, 


O  Spirit  Holy,  lift  —  uplift, 

From  our  hearts  the  veil  Despair  ; 

Since  thou  who  gav'st  that  beauteous  gift, 
Hast  taken  her  back  up  there. 

As  we've  thought  of  the  sweet  angelic  form 
That  has  vanished  from  our  sight, 


Baby  Marie.  101 

Doubts'   winds  would  moan  mid  the  heart's 

grief  storm  — 
"  Can  this  now  —  so  soon  —  be  right?  " 

But  now  sweet  birds  sing  o'er  her  grave, 
Then  wing  their  way  across  the  wave  ; 

God  sends  them  there  ;  Marie  was  given 
To  help  bring  other  souls  to  Heaven. 


Her  little  cross  she  briefly  bore— 

Her  little  life  laid  down- 
Though  here  on  earth  Marie's  no  more, 

Above  she  wears  a  crown. 


1O2  The  Peacock. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  CLEAR  BLUE  SKY. 

O,  BEAUTIFUL,  beautiful,  clear  blue  sky; 
Without  a  beginning,  without  any  end ; 
Portal  to  Heaven,  my  thoughts  to  thee  tend — 
To  thy  glories  I  would  draw  nigh. 

O,  beautiful,  silently  smiling  sky — 

The  veil   which  restraineth   from  Heaven  our 

sight; 
But  containeth  the  sun,  moon  and  stars  for  our 

light; 
Thou  teachest  of  God  Most  High. 

To  thy  convex  of  crystal,  O,  high-arched  sky — • 

Immutable  pure  expanse  of  Heaven — • 

\Ye   instinctively   turn,   when  tired   of  earth's 

leaven, 
And  often  refreshingly  sigh. 

Delectable,  beautiful,  bountiful  sky 

Thou  droppest  as  rain  God's  heavenly  dew, 


The  Beautiful  Clear,  Blue  Sky.     103 

As  earth's  awning  of  azure  after  storms  doth 

renew ; 
After  life-storms  so  may  I. 

O  beautiful,  blushing  and  bland  blue  sky- 
Bespeaking  each  morning  youth  and  hope  for 

life's  way- 
Each  evening  portraying  the  close  of  life's  day  : 
Thy  blessings  never  pass  me  by. 

O,  wonderful,  calm,  cool,  dim,  deep  sky- 
Melting  the  cold  and  temp'ring  the  heat ; 
Be  thou  the  abode  of  my  weary  feet, 
When  to  earth  and  its  toils  I've  said  "  good- 

by-" 

O  garnished  and  glittering,  glimmering  sky, 
When  'mongst  thy  fires  celestial  I  stand, 
I'll  rejoice  in  the  work  of  Divinity's  hand, — 
Priceless  and  boundless  as  eternity. 

Farewell,  my  beautiful,  bright  blue  sky, 
But  sometime  on  wings  I  hope  I  may  fly 
Till  thy  glories  divine  come  close  to  my  eye : 
I'll  gladly  then  leave  earth,  and,  oh !  so  gladly 
die. 


IO4  The  Peacock. 


THE  LAST  DAY   OF   SUMMER. 

PART    I. 

ONCE  there  was  a  little  maiden, 
With  high  mountain  airs  much  laden, 
Hied  her  down  to  Seashore  City; 

Just  for  pure  fun  she  came. 
As  she  sought  it,  so  she  found  it, 
For  she  didn't  shy  around  it : 
And  a  certain  little  fellow — 

He  joined  her  in  the  same. 

CHORUS. 

Oh,    when   will   this   t\yain   meet   again? 
Speak,   my  dear  little  dove, 
Sweetest  messenger  of  love; 
'Tis  the  last  day  of  summer — 
Will  they  ever  meet  again? 

Well,  the  day  that  they  were  parted. 
He  was  almost  broken-hearted ; 
For  a  fear  his  plans  were  thwarted. 


The  Last  Day  of  Summer.     105 

Weighed  down  his  love-lorn  heart. 
Much  he  mourned  for  her — yes,  very— 
Till,  at  last,  of  longing  weary, 
Almost  sad  enough  to  bury, 

He  searched  his  lost  sweetheart. 

PART    II. 

But  be  it  avenue  or  street, 

He  found  it  and  the  memry's  sweet, 

Of  how  she  met  him — nice  and  neat — 

At  her  big  bright  front  door ; 
And  also  how  they  gaily  went 
To  Lover's  Leap  next  day  and  spent 
A  little  while  they  don't  repent;— 

Nor  will  forevermore. 

CHORUS. 

Oh,  when  will  this  twain  part  again? 
Says  my  dear  little  dove, 
Sweetest  messenger  of  love: 
"  Tis  the  first  day  of  summer — 
And  they'll  never  part  again." 

Is  there  need  of  explanation? 
Not  in  an  enlightened  nation; 
Nor  is  such  my  contemplation — 


io6 


The  Peacock. 


Not  to  you — not  to  you ; 
For  there  is  a  wisdom  from  above 
Which  teaches  nothing's  like  true  love — 
No,  there's  nothing  like  true  love, 

If  it  is  truly  true. 


Along  With  Alice  White.        107 


ALONG  WITH  ALICE  WHITE. 

'LONG   a    little    winding   pathway,    from    my 

country  home  to  school, 
Alice  White  and  I  each  school-day  gathered 

flowers  as  a  rule; 
I'll  explain!  to  give  her  warning,  I  a  whistle 

had  you  know ; 
When  I  passed  her  house  each  morning,  I  that 

whistle  was  to  blow ; 
I  can  see  her  now  emerging,  with  her  satchel 

full  of  books ; 
And  remember  something  urging,  "  Oh,  how 

beautiful  she  looks !  " 

CHORUS. 

Then,  along  with  Alice  White, 
My  way  would  seem  serene  delight ; — • 
But  it's  now  uncommon  dark — 
The  fire  of  love  emits  no  spark — 
And,  I  guess,  I've  missed  my  mark. 


io8  The  Peacock. 

She  asked  me  the  spelling  lesson  and  I  asked 

it  her  as  well; 
And  to  make  a  free  confession,   I'm  not  yet 

free  from  that  spell. 
How  I  blew  that  Kuklux  whistle — blew  with 

all  my  little  might! 
And  would  let  no  thorn  or  thistle  mar  the  path 

she  trod  so  light. 
School  is  over — prizes  given — she  took  first, 

I,  second  prize; 
And  though  I'm   from  Alice  riven,  I'll  extol 

her  to  the  skies. 

Yes, — that  prize — she  helped  me  win  it — she 

stood  with  me  through  the  strife; 
But  she's  lost  as  I  begin  it — this  race  for  the 

prize  of  life. 
Lost  my  whistle  is  forever, — lost  it  purposely 

one  night ; 
For  I've  lost  all  hope  of  ever  finding  long  lost 

Alice  White : 
Yes,  alone  I  go  life's  journey;  but  if  not  for 

fate  and  sin, 
There   is   something   whispers   to   me   that   it 

diff'rent  might  have  been. 


Lines  on  my  Birthday.          io() 


LINES     ON     MY     TWENTY-SECOND 
BIRTHDAY  ANNIVERSARY. 

THIS  eleventh  clay  of  long  October, 
I'm  twenty-two  and  duly  sober. 
Just  out  of  life's  primary  school, 
And — know  myself — how  great  a  fool! 
I've  said  farewell  to  the  old  plantation — 
Seek  fortune,  fame,  in  emulation. 

But  filial  fire  and  faith  and  fervor, 
I  shall  carry  with  me  ever; 
From  twenty-two  till  three-score-ten, 
I'll  use  them  up  for  the  good  of  men. 
And  hope  I'll  to  the  world  a  story 
Leave  of  a  life  whose  end  was  glory. 

And  life  of  love  not  lost  in  grieving; 
And  be  not  faithless,  but  believing; — 
A  life  unblamable  and  just 
That  will  not  perish  with  the  dust. 
If  for  this  life  I'm  always  trying, 
I'll  fear  not  death,  but  only  dying. 


no  The  Peacock. 

In  nature's  every  new  idea, 

Let  me  see  God  with  eye  of  seer; 

For  "  October's  child  is  horn  for  woe," 

Say  some  who  may — or  may  not — know. 

But  in  trials  let  my  faith  be  doubled; 

And  my  heart  cannot  be  troubled. 

I'll  do  tbe  duties  that  lie  nearest — 
To  fiercest   foe — to   friends  who're  dearest- 
And  in  Gospel  light  and  liberty, 
As  my  days  my  strength  shall  be : 
Not  one  moment  without  duty—- 
That's a  life  of  joy  and  beauty. 

On  car t!i  I  hope  for  friends  true-hearted, 

Who'll  never  from  my  side  be  parted; 

And  when,  as  mortal,  I  am  free 

To   put   on   immortality, 

If  for  a  space  I'm  from  them  riven, 

I'll  for  them  wait  and  watch  in  Heaven. 


My  Dear  Little  Annie.  in 


MY  DEAR  LITTLE  ANNIE. 

OF  OUR  schooldays  and  ways  there  were  few 

who  knew; 

Fewer  still  who  will  care  to  remember ; 
And  now,  Annie,  my  dear,  I  fear  even  you 
Will  have  changed  from  June  to  December ; 
For  since  then,   little  friend,   we  have  parted 

been, 
And  I've  mixed  with  the  world  and  its  awful 

sin. 

CHORUS. 

Yet,  my  dear  little  Annie,  your  embraces  so 

many, 

And  your  loving1  childish  kiss, 
And  your  angel  smiles  the  sweetest  of  any, 
I  shall  often  and  always  miss. 

You  were  just  eight  years  old,  as  I've  since 

been  told, 

When  we  journeyed  to  school  together; 
But  your  kiss,  it  was  bliss,  so  innocent  bold, 


H2  The  Peacock. 

Wonder  why  you're  now  shy  and  whether 
You'd  fear  much  me  to  touch,  now  so  travel- 
stained  ; 

Ah,  you'd  be  not  so  free,  for  your  child-love 
has  waned. 

O,    'twas    grand    for    your    hand — your    little 

white  hand — 

To  lay  hold  on  my  own  so  gently; 
If  no  more  here  we  meet,  there's  a  better  land, 
Into  which  we  may  have  joint  entry. 
Oh!    my    bright    blue-eyed    Annie,  with    teeth 

white   as  pearls, 
I'll    caress    nevermore    your    darling    golden 

curls. 

O,  my  fair  little  flower,  if  'twas  in  my  power, 
I  would  round  your  blossoms  bending, 
Drop  heavenly  dew,  send  softest  shower — 
Let  you  breathe  a  spring  unending ; 
For  I'm  sure  you  are  pure  as  the  driven  snow, 
Although  I  wrell  know7  I'm  forgot  long  ago. 


The  Song  of  a  Soldier.  113 


THE  SONG  OF  A  SOLDIER, 

THERE  lives  a  little  Filipina, 
(As  a  soldier  oft  I've  seen  her) 
On  that   Eastern   island   greener — 

Well,  greener  than  'tis  free. 
Each  clay  she  made  a  sweet  segar, 
And  gave  to  me — ha,  ha,  ha,  ha — 
And  gave  to  me — ah,  there  you  are  !— 

And  gave  direct  to  me. 

CHORUS. 

Therefore  I  call  her  my  Manila, 
Ever  since,  and  ever  will  I ; 
And  you  can  bet  your  little  life, 
One  day  she'll  be  my  only  wife; — 
Mine  alone — my  own  Manila. 

A  smoke  I  made  as  from  the  funnel 
Of  a  train  within  a  tunnel; — 
Her  Manila's  worth  a  bundle 

Of  the  old  Havana-filler. 
How  the  memory  of  it  lingers ! — 

8 


H4  The  Peacock. 

Soon  a  dandy  diamond  ring  goes 
Upon  one  of  the  dainty  fingers 
Of  my   fair   Manila. 

One   day   from   out   my   saddlebag 
I  took  a  soiled  and  tattered  rag 
And  gave  to  her — and  there  the  flag 

Of  love  we  both  unfurled. 
So  \vhcn  our  ship  did  homeward  start, 
She  gave  to  me  her  sunny  heart, 
And  it  and  I  can  never  part- 
No,  not  in  this  wide  world. 


The  Village  Schoolmaster        115 


THE  VILLAGE   SCHOOLMASTER. 

ON  a  village  history's  pages, 

There's  a  story  that  will  be  told 

Of  a  turner  of  text-book  pages — 
A  professor,  profound,  brave,  bold. 

The  professor  taught  writing  and  reading, 
But  not  alone  that  did  he  teach; 

Oft  his  pupils  heard  praying  and  pleading 
For  a  better  life  for  each. 

Still  the  old  Academy's  holding 
Its  own,  and  I  guess  that  it  still 

Holds   the  echo  of  many  a  scolding 
Once  heard  on  HUMANITY  HILL. 

Though  the  scoldings  were  meant  most  kindly, 
They  were  perversely  misunderstood ; — 

Then  we  childishly  saw,  and  blindly, 
But  now — well  we  know  he  was  good. 

Oh  long  may  he  live  here  beside  us, 
Oh  long,  old  Academy,  stand ; 


Ji6  The  Peacock. 

Though  as  teacher  he  often  did  chide  us, 
As  a  friend — a  FRIEND — he  is  grand. 

In  that  schoolhouse  he  many  a  matter 
Of  technics  and  morals  fixed  right; 

God  grant  that  no  storm  ever  shatter 
That  mansion  of  mental  light. 

Youth's  footsteps  forever  should  rumble 

Within  its  personified  halls, 
And  never  a  brick  should  crumble 

From  off  of  its  hallowed  walls. 

Let  the  wasps  from  the  belfry  be  driven, 
Let  the  grand  old  bell  ring  free; 

Let  us  honor  a  life  all  given 
That  men  wiser,  and  better  be. 

Though  some  of  his  pupils  may  wander, 

And  not  his  injunctions  obey; 
RETURNING,  they'll  meet  him  up  yonder,- 

Here  is  one  who  will  strive  and  pray. 


Git  cr  long,  Keep  Movin'.          117 


GIT  ER  LONG,  KEEP  MOVIN'. 

DE  grindstone  turns  fur  cle  ax's  sharpening 
An'  around  on  its  axis  turns  de  earth ; 
Everything  God  made,  he  keeps  it  er  movin', 
An'  he  means  us  to  move  frum  de  day  of  our 
birth. 

CHORUS. 

Git  er  long,  keep  movin' ; — 
Whatever  you  duz  or  duzn't  do, 
What  comes  to  you  or  you  comes  to — 
Git  er  long,  keep  movin'. 

Politics,  religion,  or  a  farmin'  or  a  statin', 
Or  free  or  in  jail  an'  you  can't  git  out,— 
If  you  don't  want  ter  die  wit.  de  gout  when 

you're  agin', 
You'    had   better   keep   er   turnin'    aroun'    an 

about. 

An'  boys,  when  de  girls  you  goes  er  courtin', 
If  de  sweetest  er  hearts  you  wants  to  win, — 


n8 


The  Peacock. 


You  mus'  never  cease  er  writin'  an'  er  rhymin' 

an  er  rotin' 
An'  er  hug-gin'  an'  er  kissin'  frum  de  time  you 

begin. 


Come  Back,  Dear  Jack.          119 


COME  BACK,  DEAR  JACK,  FROM  THE 
KLONDIKE. 

TELL    me.    Jack,  why    you    left  for    Alaska; 

Will  you  never  again  return? 
Jack,  your  girl,  she  said  "  No,"  when  you  asked 
her, 

But  already  her  heart  doth  burn. 

CHORUS. 

Come  back,  clear  Jack,  from  the  Klondike, 
We  will  meet  with  a  tender  hand-strike, 
And  we'll  cling  to  each  other  just  like — 
Well,  as  only  love  can  cling. 

Flee  away  from  that  freezing  region; 

You  may  come  with  or  without  gold; 
There  are  fortunes,  Jack,  here  by  the  legion, 

And  there's  love,  Jack,  that  can't  be  told. 

Cross  again  all  those  bleak,  cold  mountains ; 

May  the  angels  your  feet  true  guide; 
Soon  we'll  sit  by  sweet  summer  fountains, 
Yes,  we'll  linger  once  more  side  by  side. 


120  The  Peacock. 

Jack,  I  know  I  refused  you  blindly; — 
Oh!  the  thought,  it  will  break  my  heart; 

But  return  from  the  Klondike,  kindly, 
And  we  never  again  shall  part. 

Quick  return  from  the  Klondike  kingdom ; 

O,  dear  Jack,  do  not  longer  rove; 
When  you  come  I  will  treat  you  handsome, 

Yes,  in  garden  and  glen  and  grove. 

Bring  me  back.  Jack,  the  heart  I've  broken, 
Bring  me  back,  too,  the  dear  little  glove; 

For  the  sake  of  the  girl  who  loves  you, 
For  the  sake  of  the  girl  you  love. 


The  Magnolia.  121 


THE  MAGNOLIA. 

MOST  magnificent  Magnolia! 
How  its   fragrance  doth  enroll  you, 
In  a  cloud  of  dreamy  incense  as  you  stand  be- 
neath its  boughs ; 

Boughs    with    glorious    greenness    glistening; 
Boughs  on  which  the  birds  sit  listening 
To  the  echoes  of  the  songs   for  which  their 
Maker  each  endows. 

Strong  and  stately — sweet  Magnolia ! 

Every  fibre  of  my  soul  you 

Stir  whene'er   I   see  or   smell   your  blossoms 

white ; 

For  I  ever,  while  admiring 
All  your  beauties,  pray,  aspiring 
That  .my  life  be  near  to  nature  and  its  light. 

Mild  and  mystical  Magnolia, 

When  I've  reached  life's  grand  good  goal,  you 

Still   will   stand   up   in   my  mem'ry — still   be 


J?2  The  Peacock. 

If  the  woodman's  axe,  Magnolia, 
Lay  you  low,  let  this  console  you  : 
"  In    your  shade    one  soul    was  sheltered    till 
serene." 


Lines  by  a  Black  Sheep.         123 


LINES  BY  A  "  BLACK  SHEEP."  , 

IN   MEMORY  OF   HIS  MOTHER. 

ABOVE,  about  her  bier  was  flowing — overflow- 
flowing, 

Fair  fresh  flowers  of  friend's  bestowing — • 
love's  bestowing; 

Tears  upon  her  cold  face  falling — hotly  falling 

Came  from  many  hearts  her  noble  deeds  re- 
calling; 

All  around  her  words  were  spoken — softly 
spoken ; 

Words  of  how  her  heart  was  broken — slowly 
broken ; — 

Broke,  though  by  what? — her  friends  knew 
not,  though  they  had  given 

All  they  could  to  cure,  and  striven — vainly 
striven. 

Yet  there  was  one  who  stood  there  smiling — 
sadly  smiling; — 

(One  lost,  estranged,  till  conduct  changed 
brought  reconciling;)- 


124  The  Peacock. 

A  son  who  made  her  most  of  trouble,  most  of 
sorrow ; 

Yet  one  who  did  his  best  before  and  after 
for  her. 

He  felt  he'd  gladly  leave  lone  earth  to  find 
the  mother, 

Who  with  all  his  faults  could  love  him  as  no 
other. 

For,  friend,  the  only  one  who  KNEW  him  has 
been  taken, 

Therefore  his  soul  not  only  feels,  but  is  for- 
saken ; 

Yes,   only  one    (she   lies    there    dead)    could 

understand  him; 

And  while  the  world  in  guilty  red  might  wil- 
ling brand  him, 
She  came,   caressed,   convinced,   and  said  she 

free    forgave   him ; 
And   free,  too,   friend,   God  pardons  him  and 

God  will  save  him. 
He    smiles   because  he    knows  he    soon    again 

can  give  her 
A  son's  glad  hand  in  that  blest  bourne  beyond 

the  river. 
There'll  greet  her  on  that  happy  shore  besides 

him  many; 


Lines  by  a  Black  Sheep.         125 

But  him  she'll  welcome — no — not  more — but 

mud i  as  any. 
She'd  not  be  happy  one  to  miss — ah,  well  I 

know  it ; 
But  she'll,   if  there's   an   extra  kiss,   on  him 

bestow  it. 

The  others  will  not  envy  him,  nor  one  another ; 
Their  glory  would  his  glory  dim,  but  for  his 

mother. 

Cease  then  crying — cease  your   sighing — she 

might  hear  it ; — 

Holy  living,  happy  dying — never  fear  it, 
Different   was   with   the   Departed;   we   shall 

find  her, 
Up  in  Heaven,  lightsome-hearted,  and  remind 

her, 
Absence  made  our  hearts  grow  fonder — ever 

fonder, 
Now  let  us   follow  strict  her  steps  till  over 

yonder ; 
They'll  lead  us  to  the  angels'  feet — they'll  lead 

its  higher — 

UP  TO  THE  VERY  THRONE  OF  GOD, 
THOUGH  THROUGH  THE  FIRE! 


126  The  Peacock. 


HOMEWARD  BOUND. 

UP  in  cle  air  an'  underground, 

All  sorts  o'  trains  can  go ; 

But  when  er  fellow's  homeward  bound, 

Tears  like  all  trains  are  slow. 


Innubibus  ;  or,  in  the  Clouds.     127 


INNUBIBUS ;  OR,  IN  THE  CLOUDS. 

Dedicated  to  REV.  J.  E.  MCMANAWAY,  by  whom  I  was 
baptized ;  and  to  his  admirable  wife,  by  whom  I  have 
been  advised. 

PROLOGUE. 

DEAR  FRIEND: — An  airy  flight  I  took  alone; 
On  winged  steed  traversed  each  earthly  zone. 
"  Dost  thou  love  picking  meat  ?  Or  wouldst 

thou  see 
A  man  i'  the  clouds  and  hear  him  speak  to 

thee? 
Wouldst  read  thyself,  and  read  thou  knowest 

not  what, 

And  yet  know  whether  thou  art  blest  or  not 
By  reading  the  same  lines?  Oh,  then  come 

hither, 

And  lay  my  book,  thy  head  and  heart  together." 
*       *       >K       *       %.       ^ 

The  clouds  of  God  are  on  their  road,  to  do  His 

holy  will ; 
Sent     here — sent     there — sent     everywhere — 

earth's  thirsty  cup  to  fill. 


128  The  Peacock. 

From  north  to  south,  from  east  to  west,  they 

scatter  blessings  rich; 
To   good,   to   had,    to   high,    to   low, — there's 

never  question  which. 
Omnipotent,  Omnipresent,   Omniscient,  is  the 

hand 
That   drives   them   swift — but   safely   swift — 

o'er  universal  land. 

By  night,  by  day,  they've  gone  their  way,  in- 
finity of  time; 

Fair  forest,  field,  and  tender  flower,  they've 
saved  from  early  rime. 

With  shifting  shade,  o'er  glen  and  glade,  from 
sun  of  scorching  heat 

They  shield,  and  pour  cool  waters  down  to 
ripple  round  our  feet. 

With  thunder  and  with  lightning  they  sow 
sanitary  showers ; 

And  laden  sweet  with  snow  and  sleet  in  winter 
are  they  ours. 

First,  thunder-head  of  pure  white  lead,  doth 

decorate  the  sky; 
Then  rack  of  black  makes  darksome  track  and 

\vhirls  the  cyclone  by; — 


Immbibus  ;  or,  in  the  Clouds.     129 

With  awful  awe,  breaks  nature's  law,  and  says 

— terrific  hour! — 
"  For  judgment  sent,  till  men  repent  of  wicked 

boast  of  power." 
Yet  in  good  time  the  sign  Divine  sets  in  the 

cloud — God's  bow — 

Speaks  trumpet  tone  from  out  God's  throne — 
Earth  flood  no  more  shall  know ! 

With  loud  acclaim  the    great  I    AM,   times, 

seasons,  days  and  years, 
Stamps  with  his  seal,   that  we  may  feel  our 

hopes  belie  our  fears; 
The   sky  of  blue — stars   set  thick  through — 

admiringly  we  eye; 
But,  overcast  with  cloudy  blast,  our  fears,  our 

hopes  belie. 
Thus  Justice   rules — mild   Mercy   schools — us 

all — both  great  and  small- 
Till  graduate — God's   own  create — His   loves 

as  strengths  appal. 

Glorious   Geometrician   Great,    what   wonders 

hast  thou  wrought ! 
Impossible  to  be  expressed,  or  seen,  or  known, 

or  thought! 


1 30  The  Peacock. 

Incomprehensibility  is  held  thy  attribute, 
And    well,     while    tabernacling"    here,     might 

tongue  of  man  be  mute. 
Ne'er    should    we    guilty    creatures    say    thy 

miracles  for  naught 
Are  shown  us  here,  for  every  one  with  lessons 

good  is  fraught. 

o  o 

Yonder,  on  winds  of  fate,  arise  hand-clouds 
from  ocean's  brink; 

Look! — they  begin  to  sweep  the  skies! — oh, 
look,  and  think! — and  think! 

Ah! — there  is  one  that  wastes  away! — dis- 
solves in  gracious  drops!— 

Wears  out — rains  out — on  dales  and  plains, 
and  hills  and  mountain-tops! 

\Yhut's  there  to  learn?  What  did  it  say? — the 
cloud  that's  now  no  more?- — 

"  What  might  or  light  is  thine,  use  right— 
'twas  meant  and  lent  therefore." 

From  pole  to  pole,  wherever  soul  has  drawn 

immortal  breath ; 
Or  sun  of  old — life's  golden  bowl — kissed  back 

earth's  lips  from  death  ; 
God's  clouds  in  forms  more  various  than  finite 

fancy  e'er  drew — 


Innubibus  ;  or,  in  the  Clouds.      131 

Like  birds  and  bees  and  butterflies,  of  every 

kind  of  hue — 
Descend  the  doors  of  Heaven  and  down  rain 

their  sweet  manna  good,— 
A  prophecy,   the  time  will  be,   man  will  eat 

angels'  food. 

The  silver  clouds — white  glistening  shrouds — 

do  pillar  up  the  East; 
From  Adam,   Noah,   Israel,   Christ — till  now, 

they've  made  nor  ceased. 
They  clouds  of  darkness  come  to  those  unrev- 

erential  found ; — 
In  gales  of  gladness  are  they  blown  to  every 

holy  ground. 
The  glory  of  our  God  appears  in  each  bright 

eastern  cloud ; 
Let  every  man  in  his  tent  door,  rise  up  and 

worship  loud. 

Low '  in  the   west — aerial   pressed.— like   wine 

presses  trod  red- 
Clouds,  sucked  of  purple  dregs  by  earth,  make 

many  a  golden  bed ; 
In  fold  of  fleece,  they  lie  in  peace,  at  setting 

of  the  sun; 


132  The  Peacock. 

Stopped  now  their  storms,  free  float  their 
forms, — so  man's  race  rightly  run. 

The  symbol  of  God's  presence  do  the  gold 
clouds  western  coiru ; 

To  heavenly  place,  his  gift  of  grace,  such 
clouds  will  waft  us  home. 

Lp,  too,  how  icy- freighted  they,  to  northward 

to  and  fro, 
Sail  silently  in  ships  of  gray  and  white  the 

world  with  snow. 
In  cloudy  chariot  descends  him  who  the  snow 

clouds  made; 
"  Be  on  the  earth  snow,"  doth  he  say,  and  ever 

is  obeyed. 
Ancient   of   Days,    whose   garments    sit   upon 

Thee  white  like  wool, 
Snow-water  cleanse  our  scarlet  sins,  and  purify 

in  full. 

But  once  more  now  turn  toward  the  south — 

—behold  a  fiery  stream  ; — 
Ten  thousand  times  ten  thousand  stand  upon 

its  banks  and  dream. 
In  passion's  heat,  here  lovers  meet,  and  gentle; 

breezes  bear 


Innubibus  ;  or,  in  the  Clouds.     133 

Their  fragrance  from  the  balmy  palm,  that 
speaks  the  south  so  fair. 

Paradisiacal  these  plains  their  habitants  re- 
mind, 

We  in  all  climes,  and  at  all  times,  God's  clouds 
of  bounty  find. 

When  blossoms  burst  from  springtime  buds — • 

God's  Garden  breaks  abloom — 
Soft   April   shower   sweetens   the  .sour,    from 

clouds  of  pure  perfume. 
When  landscape  dying  summer  clothes  with 

iridescent  veil, 
Electric  clouds  their  heat  dispose  till  ends  the 

songbird's  tale. 
Though  Boreas  reap,  frost-bit  leaves  keep  their 

aromatic  smells 
Till   autumn    clouds   rock    deep   to     sleep   in 

winter's  downy  dells. 

The  waters  saw  Jehovah  once — saw  him  and 

were  afraid ; — 
Clouds  from  his  hand  swept  Egypt  land,  nor 

stayed  till  Moses  prayed. 
To   rend  her   rocks  and   mar  her   flocks,   hot 

thunderbolts  were  hurled; 


134  The  Peacock. 

Waters  gushed  out,  streams  overflowed,  light- 
nings lightened  the  world — 

Came  crimson  flood  from  clouds  of  blood — 
all  earth  trembled  and  shook : 

But  since  from  Olive  gentler  clouds'  ascent 
records  the  book. 

Praise  him  ye  fruitful  trees  and  all  cedars  on 
mounts  and  hills; 

His  word,  fire,  hail,  snow  and  vapor,  and 
stormy  wind  fulfils. 

Ye  dragons  ard  all  deeps  praise  him — ye  cattle 
and  all  beasts — 

Ye  creeping  things  and  flying  fowls — He  fixeth 
all  your  feasts. 

Both  maidens  and  young  men,  old  men,  and 
children,  all  as  one, 

Praise  Him  and  magnify  His  name  as  excel- 
lent alone. 

Kings   of  the  earth   and   all   people — princes, 

judges  of  earth — 
Be  near  unto  Him,  do  His  will,  and  spread 

abroad  His  worth. 
With  organ,  cymbal,  psaltery,  and  ten-stringed 

instrument, — 


Innubibus  ;  or,   in  the  Clouds.      135 

For  cirrus   and   comet  praise   Him,   and    fair 

firmament ; 
To   Heaven's   Cloud   King  a  new   song1  sing', 

with  trumpet,  harp,  timbrel; 
Oh,  praise  His  excellent  greatness — He  doeth 

all  things  well ! 

O,  world,  repent  of  discontent  with  God's  good 

will  and  ways, 
And    view    His    wondrous    Providence    with 

adorations  gaze. 
Or  cold  or  hot,   it    matters  not,  or    clear  or 

cloudy  sky ; 
The    moon — the    sun — the    stars    that    run — 

dreamer  dare  not  deny- 
All  hold  their  course,  and  have  their  source,  in 

the  One  Grand  Day- Spring, 
And  soon  from  thee  will  all  mists  flee  at  Rev- 
elation's  ring. 

Who  are  these  that  fly  as  a  cloud — as  doves  to 

their   windows  ? — 
Who  is  this  that  apparelled  red  from  Bozrah 

meeteth  those? — 
Ah,   the  Good   Shepherd  know?  His  sheep — 

guides  them  through  gates  of  gold ! 


136  The  Peacock. 

Voices  like  mighty  thunderings  now  shout 
"  Half  was  not  told." 

Clothed  with  white  clouds,  to  Tree  of  life  they 
have  eternal  right ! 

In  cloud  of  glory,  King  of  Kings  their  ever- 
lasting light! 

Our  Father  who  art  in  Heaven,  hallowed  be  thy 
name ; 

Thy  Kingdom  come :  Thy  will  be  done  in 
Heaven  and  earth  the  same. 

Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread.  Our  tres- 
passes forgive, 

As  we  forgive  those  who  trespass  against  us 
—Christ-like  live. 

Into  temptation  lead  us  not;  evil  deliver  from, 

Till  CLOUDS  OF  \Y1TNKSSES  we  see  Thy 
Glory,  Power,  Kingdom. 

Amen. 


Au  Revoir.  137 


AU  REVOIR. 

AH,  yes,  distance  lends  enchantment  to  all 
scenes ; 

But  we  humans  never  know  how  much  that 
means, 

Until,  a  thousand  miles  away,  we  backward 
look ; 

Then  all  darkness  turns  to  day,  as  in  my  book. 

But  this  book  helps  you  forward  look  and  up- 
ward or 

It  fails  in  what  its  author  wished. — Now. 
Au  Revoir. 


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